‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. She stepped backwards. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book.
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