Just go about with him. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. The thought of beauty became an obsession.
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