” She replied informally. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. Maggot. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed. While there's life there's hope.
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