But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. “I don’t believe there is one. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss.
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