” He spoke a little nervously. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. These were the Master's body-guard. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention.
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