" So saying, he closed the door. " "Please!" She dropped the curtains and the manuscripts, knelt and held out her arms. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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