She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. I wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. So kind, so good to me always. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound.
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