Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. He flipped the television off. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper.
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