‘I was not born to this. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "Spare me!" Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist. Gold-handled, too. I’ve made no one happy. " "He couldn't help it, Ruth. You are nothing of the sort.
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