The Story was twisted out of all proportion, and now he needs us all to know the truth, so here it is, from his own mouth.
That young girl, she was cryin’, see. Doing all that weepin’ and wailin’ and wringin’ of hands – an’ I could hear her all the way down where I was. That’s the dungeons to any what ain’t been there. That’s where they keep such as me, who don’t like the way people’s looks ats us.
All night, right up ’til when the bloomin’ moon snuck her light in my grate and I sees her face at the winder – an’ she was a beauty, alright. Black hair, dark eyes, pale skin. Tall, most likely, or she wouldna been able to lean out like that. I couldna do…
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