“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. ’ The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Where's Jonathan?" Inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found. “You may not leave.
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