Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. “I ought never have gone to the Zoo, I suppose.
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