He started back the way he’d come, meaning to descend the slope to his horse and ride back to town. Aunt Cord the spinster. There was no sign of the turnpike beyond it; instead of roadway, there was a courtyard of silver glass—a huge flat mirror, in fact. Susan put a hand to her bosom, then took her napkin and raised it to wipe a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye.
“We’ll start moving the tankers soon, whether the brats come or not. She didn’t dare wake him of her own—all her courage had been exhausted just getting here, creeping through the dark Come in and visit, squat and hunker, be at rest, be at peace, be at one. The wizard’s glass has swallowed him.
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