“No, I’m not glad,” he snapped, a wild and unstoppable lie. “I knew you would be nothing but trouble.” Robin was smiling, because Robin didn’t know what was good for him. That was how he ended up like this, with the scratches on his face and his hands, and—and Edwin couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and tracing the worst of the scabbed red lines, half-flattered and half-guilty and all-over angry with the world for putting him here, now, richer than he’d been at the start of the day by one of the oldest magical properties in England and by this, Robin Blyth lifting his palms willingly to
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