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noses were reduced to the simplest variations on the twenty-second letter of the alphabet.
“They were children,” he said. “We were wolves.”
The shaping of a golem, to him, was a gesture of hope, offered against hope, in a time of desperation. It was the expression of a yearning that a few magic words and an artful hand might produce something—one poor, dumb, powerful thing—exempt from the crushing strictures, from the ills, cruelties, and inevitable failures of the greater Creation.
