She felt sickeningly empty. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. I am your servitor. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. The ruffian's companions took his part. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.
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