’ He stared at the point, glanced at the fallen sword imprisoned by her foot, and only just looked back at her weapon in time to see it thrust at him again. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. Your purposes are defeated. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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