There isn't a house in Charin that
will hold me. I've been thrown out twice today."
She nodded. "I don't know how the word spreads, but it happens, in
nonhuman parts. I think they can see trouble written in a human face, or
smell it on the wind." She fell silent, her face propped sleepily
between her hands, her hair falling in tangles. I took one of her hands
in mine and turned it over.
It was a fine hand, with birdlike bones and soft rose-tinted nails; but
the lines and hardened places around the knuckles reminded me that she,
too, came from the cold austerity of the salt Dry-towns. After a moment
she flushed and drew her hand from mine.
"What are you thinking, Cargill?" she asked, and for the first time I
heard her voice sobered, without the coquetry, which must after all have
been a very thin veneer.
I answered her simply and literally. "I am thinking of Dallisa. I
thought you were very different, and yet, I see that you are very like
her."
I thought she would question what I knew of her sister, but she let it
pass in silence.
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