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“And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Then he sensed the trap. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. I said I’d make shirts. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. Sheppard let fall her basket.
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