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The old man looked up, as though aware of her eyes upon him. His worn face stiffened, as if in pain, and he finally opened the pack, never taking his gaze off her. Mrs Hawkins leads them into a lavish, high-ceilinged entrance hall. Beneath deep, Arabic rugs, the floor is flagged with rough, local stone; a checkerboard of dark greys and boggy greens. The walls, a toned-down teal, form a gallery space for huge, gold-framed landscapes, interspersed with fine lithographs and a handful of blocky, inexpert oil paintings; portraits that appear to have been done using the back of a spoon as both paintbrush and mirror. I was putting away the last of the dishes when Gabriel and Karen walked through the door. Neither of them looked very happy.Lovers spat? What is she, if not a queen? Shan strained at the leather bonds, his arms wrenching. He tried again. As if he could tear himself free. But he had to. Hed break his arms to do it if he had to, sever a hand. Gilliad had Jeren. He had to save her. 4.44pm Shans world turned red and black with anger and despair as she absorbed the blow. Her legs went limp and he dragged himself to his feet, shaking off Gilliads spell to catch her. His sword lashed out, deflecting the blade that would have killed her, slamming it back against the wall. Whoever had the crossbow was trying to reload. He could hear cursing. Will it never dry out? asks Eve, sitting on the shallow stone step at the back of Slater Farm: a squat, mucky white building that seems to be sinking into the khaki-and-coffee fell side, half a mile up from the Wast Water. She doesnt understand how anybody can farm here – its all sheer rocks and scree. I mean, cant they stick it in a barn and see what happens? Does it need to be burned? Yes, maam. Rowan chews his lip. Nods. Rowan suddenly feels utterly ridiculous. He needs this to be rule. Needs to be onto something with meat at its centre. Damn it, Gabriel, youre gonna get me fired. A long, drawn-out sigh came over the line. What do you need? Except that she was alone. Her present and future all seemed behind her. The painting. Miss Joness inevitable shock, disappointment, and resulting grade. Her parents. Lily. The stares and comments from the good little students in her class. It was all done. Now only one question nagged her. I suppose its not like the confessional, she mutters, talking to herself. He smiled. Gods, it hurt when he smiled like that.They can help me, little one. But if it be your will, Ill die here happily..