S. Sebastian leapt down into the crypt. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. “I shall not speak,” he said, “now or at any other time. Vorsack would just have to live with it.
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