Jem leaned closer against the chair, staring into the fire. β€œBetter it were my hands,” he said. Will shook his head. Exhaustion was muting the edges of everything in the room, blurring the flocked wallpaper into a single mass of dark color. β€œNo. Not your hands. You need your hands for the violin. What do I need mine for? ✨ Cassandra Clare (2014). Clockwork Princess, p.170, Simon and Schuster

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