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” “You can’t be killed?” He asked. Only you good ones— shirk. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. " "The pianist?" "Yes.
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