Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. "I will live," cried Blueskin, with a look of the deadliest hatred at Wild, "to be revenged on you. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. ’ Was there a careful note in her voice? Gerald gave no sign, keeping his own tone light. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness.
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