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... what evening fires normally do. Mostly sit there and burn in a respectable, predictable way.
Vassara waited for me to respond. Her amber eyes were steady. They were always steady, really. The kind of steady that suggested she had already thought through at least two possible versions of whatever I might say next, and prepared answers for both of them.
Her tail swept once across the hearthrug.
"The relationship," I said, "between the inn and your house."
"Yes," sh ...
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