Glinda waved dismissively. Then she tucked her hand against her mouth and bit her knuckles. It was hard to tell if her pretty ways were studied or innate. “Oh, oh,” she managed, “I don’t know...
Do good though, will you?” She blinked brightly at the green girl. “If not for your parents or your grandmother, then for me?
Well, I learned to cook. At my age,” she told him. “What’s next? Art therapy? Anyway, I’ve had quite a time of it this summer, and who knows what eases down on any road. Come,...
You need my help? What for? Bread, cash, a fake identity to help you slip sideways through the cracks? Tell me what you need, tell me why I should help, and I’ll see what I...
My job is to protect you, Lady Glinda even if you are loosing your mind.
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