" "My sister Constance!" echoed the knight; "what of her?" "You agree to my proposal, then?" said Jonathan. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. It isn’t illusions—for us.
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