Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. I am always reinventing myself with new styles. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. It was my destiny to have her. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. I’ve been waiting a long time for you. Our mutual safety requires it.
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