Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. “They ought to have been lopped in the spring. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. I will not trust you. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat.
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