‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge.
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