The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. “Why come after me after all these years, Sebastianus? Haven’t you found any sycophants to convert, any nubile young nymphets to bring into the cannibal flock?” “Why should I do that if there is still the chance of you?” “What if there could be no chance of me? How do you know you can have me?” “I see your game. There were the burnt papers still in the grate.
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