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... on. Exhaustion clung to them. Sil Deshah, though, was the worst of the lot—swaying on the edge of collapse. Her face was ashen, drained of all color, and he slumped against Chen Haunt's broad shoulder, half-dragged, half-carried.
Nearly dropped the lantern as the guest courtyard's director scurried toward them. "Oh, holy sect above! Immortal Masters, what's happened to you all?" His voice trembled, caught between awe and terror as he wrung his hands. "Should I call Mister Steward? He cou ...
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