[A light clicking sound, like the bones of a jaw-hinge grinding on themselves. Like teeth. Like an old wooden gate. Like rats across the tiles. His voice: probing the workings and goings on of the city. When he speaks normally once more, his voice is very soft, he sounds driven to distraction.]The rise and fall of the black moon... What secrets
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...What are you doing...?
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Have you any secrets you would like to confess, little one?
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