The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected.
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