He could not have been more wrong. That must end. Greybeards and grasping fools and Garth the Gross. Keep her for a bedmate.
Customs officers from the Chequy Port would buy from her, and paddlers from the Drowned Town, whose sunken domes and towers poked up from the green waters of the lagoon. He leaned across the table. It was vexing. Such sad songs, she thought.
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