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‘He told me one-fifth of three-eighths of fuck all.
Gabriel de León was covered in inkwork, neck to navel to knuckles.
After three weeks of being treated like something Aaron had found smeared on his boot, I was finding this highborn prick’s company about as pleasant as a case of crotch lice.
Our tiny chapel in Lorson had seemed a palace to my young eyes, but this – this was a true house of God. A great circular fist of black granite with spires that bled the sky.
