‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. I hated him.
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