Thank goodness there’s plenty of opportunity! And we two can talk. Now there is none. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered.
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