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... vorite things in the world. It smelled of sharp, acidic ink, dry paper, and the oil used to grease the heavy iron presses. To Gladys, it smelled like freedom. It smelled like the secret world she and Lady Ines had built together, page by illicit page.

But today, the shop smelled like a trap. She had agreed with Carcel to become the bait, making sure Ines doesn’t find out about it.

She stood by the counter, her hands clutching her reticule tightly, her heart hammering against her ...

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