It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Understanding the appeal, the man snatched his master's sword from his grasp, and passed it through Darrell's body. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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