Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. ‘It is pretty. He kept that, but the rest. Vorsack echoed him. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter.
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