Before they could knock, the door opened and Sapatisia Sel, wearing a heavy grey sweater that looked like it had been knitted from fog and briars, stood staring at them without expression. She was not old but weathered, a plank washed up on shore. “All right,” she said in a low voice. “Here you are. Again. Why? Who are you and what do you want? Ever hear of privacy?” “We come up from Dartmouth,” said Jeanne and waited as though she had explained everything. “I guessed that. Why are you bothering me?” “I am Jeanne Sel, and this is my cousin Felix. Also Sel. We are students. I read this
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