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Summary
Quote, a promise of salvation. A tool of destruction, but not by his own hand—and Quote's hands are soft under his gloves, nails painted a bright red and prone to clasping Kazuma's when they sit together to watch television, Sue asleep next to them and their mother upstairs. Quote, who leans against his shoulder in sunbeams.
“You are, indeed, well-made,” Kazuma had said, a century ago.
Quote had lowered his cap, and said nothing.