"Perhaps he means well. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited.
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