Then to Dan Ware's, in Hanging Sword Court. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed.
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