A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. Don't build your hopes too high; but I will do what I can.
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