Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. Softly she rose to her feet. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. You must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to conferences and talks. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. ‘Something in that, missie. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head.
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