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Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. “Please stop fighting me. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. When I drink blood, I. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight.
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