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Chapter 47 - 45 The Price of What Is Necessary
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... itself had a pulse of its own. The air smelled of damp stone, of extinguished incense, of old wood that still remembered the hands that had carved it. In the corridors, light entered through high cracks and stretched across the floor in thin, golden, trembling bands.
Valentina walked barefoot, holding the blanket Helena had left folded at the foot of the bed. Her steps were small and curious. She touched the walls with her fingers, followed the grooves of the grains, stopped at every co ...
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