Wood. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic.
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