He's got the gift of the gab. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. My foster mom works there as a second job. This is my last week at the ‘Unusual,’ you know.
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