“But—your people!” she gasped. It was a letter. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. All her pride raged at me. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. Teenagers don’t have any power, not of any sort, not in your world, not in the old world. “Please forgive me.
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