PREVIEW

... harp features as the old lady but softened by youth. A white powdery substance that might be flour but didn’t smell like it dusted her apron, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows.

She stopped short when she saw us.

"Mother." Her gaze moved from the old woman to me, then to Violet, then to the crate in my arms.

"Visitors," the old woman said briskly, extracting her arm from Violet’s hold. "From the lower levels, apparently. The young man helped me carry my things ...

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