“An Oracle you are! Sebastian never told me he’d made one!” Rhea screamed a scream that was part horror and part laughter. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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