” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. . A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared.
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