Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. “What is an Oracle, Sebastian?” “I’ve told you a dozen times. I have work there. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. For a space he rode the whirligig.
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