” He said, running his fingers lightly over one pink nipple. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. "She may yet be saved. " "They may find me. But you couldn't. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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