And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. He laughed reassuringly. I’ve got imagination. I want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. You’re mine. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. In other respects, they were equally indecorous and offensive. ‘I have the means to compel you.
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