Her moods were many and always striking. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. Wild in his own domain.
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