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Chandni shook her head slowly. “I think, perhaps, you mean her ill.” She sighed. “You always had strong passions, Ashok. I’d hoped they would leave you in time.” “Strange, when your intention was to ensure I had no time. But no matter—I still live, and you’re dying. So tell me where my sister is, elder,” he said, in a voice that trembled, venomous and childish in its grief, a wobbling, teetering fury born from broken love. “Tell me, or I will be forced to take the answer from you.”
