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“And I wonder if the dowdy dresses and act of innocence are a trick, because good, sweet girls do not have a tongue as sharp and wicked as yours. And merciful gods, Silla. I am no good man, because all I can think of is drawing you into my furs and discovering what else that tongue is capable of.”
When she awoke, Silla was certain of two things. One—the girl was her sister. And two—her sister was alive, somewhere in the Kingdom of Íseldur.
