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... the tapestried room stormed Reginald, who tossed his cloak onto a nearby chair. Anyone else would have been reprimanded for that; Auga would never have tolerated it. But Varsus was not Auga and had long since given up curtailing Reginald's attitude. At the moment, Reginald's orange hair was a mess, like always, and his scowl was more profound than usual. His hands were in his pockets as he sat down.

He remained silent momentarily, looking out the partially open window at Brisgald beyond. ...

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