The girl’s eyes never left his face. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. She screamed involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her. Then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys.
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