Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Her shoulders began to ache.
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