‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. She hunted the markets for bread and treats so they could feast during the day. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. .
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