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When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
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However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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I cannot tell her I have been moping over a broken heart when I have worked so hard to convince her I have no heart at all.
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I blew that clay pigeon to smithereens. I don't know why Mum got so upset. According to Uncle Andrew she's a crack shot herself. But she says I'm too young. What I'd like to know is how old does a person have to be before they get to do all the fun stuff?
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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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I never skulk, and lurk only sometimes.
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He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.
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Tis Vanth's cage. You can just move it out of the way." "I already have," he grumbles. "With my shin.
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Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?
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I stare at him coldly. "I do not care for needlework." I pause. "Unless it involves the base of the skull.
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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them.
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For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.
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I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life.
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God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.
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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.
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It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.
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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
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I am sorry,' he whispers. 'I am sorry I treated you so ill. I thought only to protect Duval.' 'It was not I who was poisoning him,' I say. 'No, but you had stolen his heart and I was afraid you would rip it from his chest when you left.