He must be more or less of an age with this man. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. You mustn’t do things like that. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. His blood would be sweet with it. 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 man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. Pause. The streets were full of colour.
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