“The one who used to live at Lyndmore. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Remember that he’s not at all a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he’s your salvation. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance.
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