All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. "I didn't mean to give offence," replied Sheppard, sulkily. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. “You know that I have always hated this!” She 264 looked down at Michelle’s pitifully bloody head, her body barely hanging on to its breath. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case.
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