Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. You have to see her to understand.
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