Brendon was silent. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Jonathan threw open the street-door. ‘This we will leave. ” “It’s Shari’s work. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ” She paused for a moment. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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