" "Afraid?" "Yes. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table.
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