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... neat pop. Gael read without moving his feet, the way men read when the ground is still part of the sentence.
"From John," he said at last, voice like a good beam — straight and meant to hold. "Plain words, no perfume."
He lifted the paper so Ruel could see the strokes and Orna could see the lack of flourishes. Bren watched Gael’s shoulders more than the ink; shoulders tell truth earlier than mouths.
Gael read the heart of it aloud, because that was the village way when d ...
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