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... d tier the air pressed closer; it smelled not only of bronze and flux but of bell wash, the thin clay that makes a skin between intention and alloy. A tongueless bell hung at eye-level and Hanna paused, considering the symmetry of its lip—how the sound would travel when someone one day gave it a tongue and permission. She put her palm to the bronze. It was warm with stored work.
"The stamp on the Index Leaf," Han said. "Circle with the notch. House Nine."
Hanna nodded toward a li ...
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