” “I do not know who he is,” Brendon said quietly, “but he will not forget. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s.
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