She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. “A move of any sort would certainly be fatal. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. A brief calm succeeded. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. . I’ve—dreads. Is this man Hill dead?” She shook her head.
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