He drew her away from this thought. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “So, Rhea must have known you for what you are. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. But get up behind, Blueskin. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. The deafening report froze time. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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