The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He's the only native I trust in these parts. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. ” Anna laughed, gave in and with deft fingers created order out of chaos. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. There is no other way.
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