When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. .
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