“Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. M. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. “I guess I’m not the only one who wonders about your past. But you belong to me—and I want you. . It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence.
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