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Chapter Book 7 27: Recoil
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... astern stretch was vividly green. It was because of the Whitecaps, I’d read, as the ice on the slopes of the great mountains melted come spring and fed a myriad of small rivers. It was all valleys and hills, greenery shining like emeralds. Even now that the Dead King’s grasp had reached as far as mere miles away from the border of Bayeux, the land had lost none of its beauty. There was probably a turn of phrase to be squeezed out of that, something about how there could be beauty even as the wor ...
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