He seemed too noisy. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. “I should love to come.
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