“It’s either go with me now,” Wit said to the wall, “or wait it out and get captured. I honestly don’t even know if you’ve the mind to listen. But if you do, know this: I will give you truths. And I know some juicy ones.” The guards reached him. Wit pushed against them, slamming himself against the wall again. Something slipped from one of the cracks in the wall. A moving Pattern that dimpled the stone. It crossed to his hand, which he tucked into his rags as the guards seized him under the arms and hauled him out into the gardens, then tossed him among the beggars there. Once they were gone,
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