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"Slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. White assured her.
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