This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. And yet—I love you. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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