There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it. "I can't," answered Blueskin. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing.
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