"Coming!" cried Blueskin, who was still lingering with Rachel. I am yours for the making over. You are the High Priestess of Life. I'll put you aboard The Tigress to-morrow after sundown. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found.
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