"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. Strange, I could never learn her history. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. She flailed against the doctor’s grip but after what seemed an eternity of kicking and flailing, amazingly, he had not seemed weakened in the slightest by her resistance. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. "The poor young man!" she said.
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