The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. I've bumped into so much of the underside that I can't see clean any more. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. They were exquisite. Aliva Trencher.
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