“Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. The inn was a military haunt. She must have the capability to learn magic, to learn the enchantments that add to her power. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen.
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