The last piece was Scheherazade. There was no need to be afraid for me. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. You can pay me when we return. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual.
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