But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. I have suspected him of possessing a skeleton key to my apartments. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.
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