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... o the light of day, he was frantic. He made straight for the swamp’s borders, but he’d never really be able to escape from it. It was inside him now and his soul was as muddy as the velvet slippers he tramped through the muck with, and every bit as ruined. He fled upriver on the first barge that he could flag down, with promises that the count would pay them double for their trouble. They accepted of course, but no matter how fast they poled up river - no matter how far he ran from the terrible ...

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