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Thraxton possessed a large collection of walking sticks of which this was his favorite: the stick with the gold phoenix handle. He gave the phoenix a twist and it unscrewed in his hands. Then he tipped up the cane until out slid a slender glass tube filled with amber liquid— brandy. A cork stoppered one end of the tube, a narrow silver sipping cup screwed to the other. Thraxton yanked the cork from the tube while the sexton rummaged in the tiny room for a motley collection of drinking vessels: a battered pewter tankard, a dusty Toby jug and a filthy cracked tea cup. (Which, fortunately, the sexton kept for his own use.) Thraxton splashed a jigger of brandy into each and the men chinked drinking vessels and toasted the Queen’s and then each other’s health. Thraxton’s tankard had a dead, metallic taste to it, but the first sip of brandy washed it away andsent a glowing rush through him more warming than the fire.. «I don't see what…». I scan the horizon: the Hudson is like a vast and wide sea. We stick to the middle, far from either shore, Logan wisely keeping us away from any potential predators. Remembering, I immediately turn back, checking for any sign of slaverunners. I see none.. The—visitor—has not killed him, whatever I might believe about it. I accept your word on that point. And yet I have a body that’s washed ashore, and even a dead Negro requires an explanation..

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Long Fist watched him.“You dare to haggle with me?”. “Hive?” the Warded Man asked. “You mean the Core?”.

STORAGE.

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