“Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. I hate what I have to do to survive.
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