Peter Cetera, Amy Grant

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datatime: 2022-10-07 00:24:39 Author:PXtyRKIl

I sat on her bed, leaving her the chair.

"Ah, the torturers get mutton - that's the difference. What's your name, Master Torturer?"

Standing before her, with her own cell door closed and locked behind me, I found myself unable to speak. I put the books on her table beside the candlestand and her food pan and carafe of water; there was hardly room for them. When it was done I stood waiting, knowing I should leave and yet unable to go.

"Thecla. I asked for books - two days ago when I came. But I haven't got them."

"Oh, wonderful Are there others?"

"But you did. Besides, you brought them. Weren't you supposed to give them to me?"

I sat on her bed, leaving her the chair.

I could argue only weakly, knowing she was right in principle. The rule against apprentices working in the oubliette was intended to prevent escapes; and I knew that tall though she was, this slender woman could never overpower me, and that should she do so she would have no chance of making her way out without being challenged. I went to the door of the cell where Drotte still labored over the client who had tried to take her own life, and retumed with his keys.

"I won't eat that, Chatelaine. I'll have my own supper soon, and there's hardly enough for you."

"Oh, wonderful Are there others?"

I sat on her bed, leaving her the chair.

"Making friends with me. I couldn't give you your freedom. And I wouldn't - not if I had no friend but you in all the world."

"Making friends with me. I couldn't give you your freedom. And I wouldn't - not if I had no friend but you in all the world."

"But you did. Besides, you brought them. Weren't you supposed to give them to me?"

"Oh, wonderful Are there others?"

"Can't you? It's terrible to look through this and see them, and not be able to touch them."

"Severian. It won't help, Chatelaine. It won't make any difference."

"I won't eat that, Chatelaine. I'll have my own supper soon, and there's hardly enough for you."

She smiled. "What won't?"

"I think so, Chatelaine."

"Here I have no refreshment to offer you but this. Do you like lentils?"

Standing before her, with her own cell door closed and locked behind me, I found myself unable to speak. I put the books on her table beside the candlestand and her food pan and carafe of water; there was hardly room for them. When it was done I stood waiting, knowing I should leave and yet unable to go.

"Won't you sit down?"

"I'm not even supposed to feed you. Drotte should do it."

"Severian. It won't help, Chatelaine. It won't make any difference."

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