His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. ‘Come, cry a truce. No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly.
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