There’s stories, too, about his demonstrator, Capes Something or other. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. " "Not if it will hurt her. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants.
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