The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance.
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