Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. “Shhh. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin.
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