If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. \" His tone was weak and conciliatory. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. ‘Me, I have a name.
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