From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. A lovely, fetching girl. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. It could not be she who had done this. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. . Sheppard.
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