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After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. ” Cathy insisted. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk.

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