I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. “Well,” she achieved at last. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword.
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