176 “No, it’s very good. That blow made me a thief. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. “They’d better not,” said Hetty.
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