Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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