Eric Vorsack still toiled at work. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. ” “What is there to be feared?” he asked her quietly. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest.
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