"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. ‘Now see here, missie. Paul's are his work. I am no exception. The blood will rest on your head. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. You're a queer lad.
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