"Oh, you have an armoury?" Susan clasps her hands together and smiles The Smile, the one even warlords hosting Narnian monarchs on missions of tenuous and treacherous diplomacy cannot resist. So their host escorts her through the stronghold, mumbling about the beauty of her hair and how the stars are shamed by the light of her eyes, while she nods, smiles, and calculates the size of the weapons cache.
"I suspect he'd no idea," she confides in her family that night, "it is possible to count without using one's fingers."
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"I suspect he'd no idea," she confides in her family that night, "it is possible to count without using one's fingers."
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