The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. “It’s his birthday. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. The evenings were dulcet and soft. "I should like to see whether Blueskin is a little more composed. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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