Her dress was a white that would make snow seem dingy, belted in silver. The waxing moon lit the humid, night-dark streets of Illian, which still rang with celebration left over from daylight. Most of the time, no. He made his way quickly through the heat and steam, through the smells of spices and cooking.
Lights in windows on the upper stories mocked him, but the lower floors were all shut tight. I chose freely, knowing what it entailed. Moiraine had also said it could not be forced. A rap on the door made him frown.
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