They all left the room. He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. It is always on his person. I hated the stuff. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. It was not a hopeful looking group.
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