. . He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. I can withstand sunlight. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. He jumped back, wrenching the sword away. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. Presently he felt motion. I somehow understood.
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