\" She waved. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. “And yet you still live, Butterfly.
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