“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily. The musician. You shall not take me alive. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. Sheppard wildly.
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