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Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. They vanished through the doorway. She leaped suddenly at a desperate resolution, and in one moment had made it into a new self. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. It was the size of my palm.
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