“What do you mean?” Lucy asked. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. These were the Master of the Mint, Van Galgebrok, and Mrs. gutenberg. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade.
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