Perhaps it was loneliness. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. “What is an Oracle, Sebastian?” “I’ve told you a dozen times. The ladder was now within reach. ‘Come, cry a truce. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard.
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