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- Our weapons provided the only light. The gold fittings of the manubalista slung across Lavinia’s back cast a ghostly halo around her pink hair. The glow of Meg’s swords threw our elongated shadows across either wall, so we seemed to be walking in the midst of a spectral crowd. Whenever Don looked over his shoulder, his rainbow-tinted lenses seemed to float in the dark like patches of oil on water.
- ***
- The Tyrant’s Tomb, Chapter 3
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