“I am not oo blame a messenger for her tidings,” said Horyse, as he handed a cup of tea over to Sabriel, who was sitting on what looked like the only fortable chair in the dugout which was the el’s headquarters, “but y the worst news I have heard for many years.”
“At least I am a living messenger . . . and a friendly one,” Sabriel said quietly. She hadn’t really thought beyond her own for her father. Now, she was beginning to expand her knowledge of him, to uand that he was more than just her father, that he was many different things to different people. Her simple image of him—relaxing in the armchair of her study at Wyverley College, chatting about her schoolwork, Aierre teology, Charter Magid neancy—was a limited view, like a painting that only captured one dimension of the man.
“How long do we have until Abhorsen’s bindings are broken?” asked Horyse, breaking into Sabriel’s remembrance of her father. The image she had of her father re……（内容加载失败！）
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