" "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. There’s no logic in these things. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of. "See her I will. You must tell me what it all means.
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