Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. Her first orders were to summon the rest of her servants to make immediate preparations for her departure for Lancashire. ’ ‘Je m’en moque. ‘You’ll make shadows.
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