The Myrddraal's voice rasped like a dry snake skin crumbling. Before Egwene could speak or move, the Amyrlin herself came in and shut the door behind her. Take care of yourself, you wool-headed lummox. No, it doesn't.
The way back will come but once. And the glory. There isn't much time. Nothing grew except knee-high grass that rustled softly around their legs.
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