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She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you.
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