This was his humiliation as well as hers. She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. How perfectly charming.
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