Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. My father died a year ago, by the way. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. .
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