" On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. 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. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. “Please have a seat.
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