His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love.
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