Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. “I will not intrude upon you further. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. ‘That is my mother.
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