“Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground.
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