1. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day.
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