” The girl shook her head. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. " "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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