She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. A pretty name for a pretty girl. 5. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade.
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