It creaked slightly. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Here was a thundering blow. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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