"You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. “You shall,” she said.
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