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Two of Marak's moons could be seen out the window climbing swiftly over the peaks. "You turned the house," said Orne. "We like the moonrise," said Polly. "It seems more romantic, don't you think?" She glanced at Diana. Diana looked down at her plate. She was wearing a low-cut gown of firemesh that set off her red hair. A single strand of Reinach pearls gleamed at her throat.
The quick darkness of these low latitudes had pulled an ebon blanket over the landscape. There was city-glow off to the left, and an orange halo to the peaks where Marak's three moons would rise. Am I falling in love with this woman? he asked himself. He felt like calling Stetson, not to report but just to talk the situation out.
But the pixie light had returned to his eyes even to the eye he had received from a nameless and long dead donor. Except for the loss of weight, he looked to be the same Lewis Orne. If he was different beyond the "spare parts" it was something he only suspected, something that made the idea, "twice-born," not a joke. Outside the hospital, clouds obscured Marak's green sun. It was midmorning.
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