“May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. I don't think. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. “On the stage? Yes. Oh, what have you been about now?’ ‘There is no need to be concerned.
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