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"Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. In the midst of this light stood a young woman. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron.
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