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“Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. “Our interest lies in heading them off. They stopped talking, except to each other. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. . “It’s precious unromantic. ‘Kill him? Oh.

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