I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. Even the basest objects sold in the 24 roadside shops were beautiful in some way. "Is it poison?" she asked. I trust that she will not misunderstand me.
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