’ The lady’s gaze dwelled thoughtfully on the half-drawn sword and then came up to meet his, an odd look in her eyes. His hands came up, his face broke apart. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. " "I've heard of him," replied Jack, impatiently. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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