CHAPTER 41

“Vulture,” hissed the Fox, trying to control the pain and keep outwardly impregnable. - Scavenger!

For some reason, the legs themselves began to measure the distance between the walls of the tent, the voice became more insinuating, and the posture was proud.

- Grave thief. "The dead don't need treasures," is that what you said?

From the sudden change of image, the weirdo stared at the Fox with a glazed look, dropping a chicken leg from his hand. When the girl took a step towards him, he jumped back with a squeal, as if he expected her to at least punish him.

He left his family to die of hunger. And he spent the loot on good food, corrupt women, booze and gambling! - with a venomous grin, the Fox looked at him carefully, considering him for the first time, not as a terrible creature, but as an image invented by the Man for punishment. With a smooth gait, she slowly approached him. - It's a good mask! Ideal for you. Do you justify yourself at night while everyone is sleeping? Do you kee
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