At last she was roused. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. Some of my schemes are already in hand. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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