The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane

The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane


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With Conan the Cimmerian, Robert E. Howard created more than the greatest action hero of the twentieth century—he also launched a genre that came to be known as sword and sorcery. But Conan wasn’t the first archetypal adventurer to spring from Howard’s fertile imagination.

“He was . . . a strange blending of Puritan and Cavalier, with a touch of the ancient philosopher, and more than a touch of the pagan. . . . A hunger in his soul drove him on and on, an urge to right all wrongs, protect all weaker things. . . . Wayward and restless as the wind, he was consistent in only one respect—he was true to his ideals of justice and right. Such was Solomon Kane.”

Collected in this volume, lavishly illustrated by award-winning artist Gary Gianni, are all of the stories and poems that make up the thrilling saga of the dour and deadly Puritan, Solomon Kane. Together they constitute a sprawling epic of weird fantasy adventure that stretches from sixteenth-century England to remote African jungles where no white man has set foot. Here are shudder-inducing tales of vengeful ghosts and bloodthirsty demons, of dark sorceries wielded by evil men and women, all opposed by a grim avenger armed with a fanatic’s faith and a warrior’s savage heart.

This edition also features exclusive story fragments, a biography of Howard by scholar Rusty Burke, and “In Memoriam,” H. P. Lovecraft’s moving tribute to his friend and fellow literary genius.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780345461506
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 06/29/2004
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 432
Sales rank: 176,471
Product dimensions: 6.12(w) x 9.16(h) x 1.13(d)

About the Author

Robert E. Howard is one of the most prolific short story writers in American history, and has created such beloved characters as Conan the Barbarian, Kull of Atlantis, Soloman Kane, Bran Mak Morn, El Borak, and Dark Agnès de Chastillon. He tragically passed away in 1936.

Read an Excerpt

Skulls in the Stars

He told how murderers walk the earth

Beneath the curse of Cain,

With crimson clouds before their eyes

And flames about their brain:

For blood has left upon their souls

Its everlasting stain.



There are two roads to Torkertown. One, the shorter and more direct route, leads across a barren upland moor, and the other, which is much longer, winds its tortuous way in and out among the hummocks and quagmires of the swamps, skirting the low hills to the east. It was a dangerous and tedious trail; so Solomon Kane halted in amazement when a breathless youth from the village he had just left, overtook him and implored him for God's sake to take the swamp road.

"The swamp road!" Kane stared at the boy.

He was a tall, gaunt man, was Solomon Kane, his darkly pallid face and deep brooding eyes made more somber by the drab Puritanical garb he affected.

"Yes, sir, 'tis far safer," the youngster answered his surprized exclamation.

"Then the moor road must be haunted by Satan himself, for your townsmen warned me against traversing the other."

"Because of the quagmires, sir, that you might not see in the dark. You had better return to the village and continue your journey in the morning, sir."

"Taking the swamp road?"

"Yes, sir."

Kane shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"The moon rises almost as soon as twilight dies. By its light I can reach Torkertown in a few hours, across the moor."

"Sir, you had better not. No one ever goes that way. There are no houses at all upon the moor, while in the swamp there is the house of old Ezra who lives there all alone since his maniac cousin, Gideon, wandered off and died in the swamp and was never found - and old Ezra though a miser would not refuse you lodging should you decide to stop until morning. Since you must go, you had better go the swamp road."

Kane eyed the boy piercingly. The lad squirmed and shuffled his feet.

"Since this moor road is so dour to wayfarers," said the Puritan, "why did not the villagers tell me the whole tale, instead of vague mouthings?"

"Men like not to talk of it, sir. We hoped that you would take the swamp road after the men advised you to, but when we watched and saw that you turned not at the forks, they sent me to run after you and beg you to reconsider."

"Name of the Devil!" exclaimed Kane sharply, the unaccustomed oath showing his irritation; "the swamp road and the moor road - what is it that threatens me and why should I go miles out of my way and risk the bogs and mires?"

"Sir," said the boy, dropping his voice and drawing closer, "we be simple villagers who like not to talk of such things lest foul fortune befall us, but the moor road is a way accurst and hath not been traversed by any of the countryside for a year or more. It is death to walk those moors by night, as hath been found by some score of unfortunates. Some foul horror haunts the way and claims men for his victims."

"So? And what is this thing like?"

"No man knows. None has ever seen it and lived, but late-farers have heard terrible laughter far out on the fen and men have heard the horrid shrieks of its victims. Sir, in God's name return to the village, there pass the night, and tomorrow take the swamp trail to Torkertown."

Far back in Kane's gloomy eyes a scintillant light had begun to glimmer, like a witch's torch glinting under fathoms of cold gray ice. His blood quickened. Adventure! The lure of life-risk and battle! The thrill of breathtaking, touch-and-go drama! Not that Kane recognized his sensations as such. He sincerely considered that he voiced his real feelings when he said:

"These things be deeds of some power of evil. The lords of darkness have laid a curse upon the country. A strong man is needed to combat Satan and his might. Therefore I go, who have defied him many a time."

"Sir," the boy began, then closed his mouth as he saw the futility of argument. He only added, "The corpses of the victims are bruised and torn, sir."

He stood there at the crossroads, sighing regretfully as he watched the tall, rangy figure swinging up the road that led toward the moors.

The sun was setting as Kane came over the brow of the low hill which debouched into the upland fen. Huge and blood-red it sank down behind the sullen horizon of the moors, seeming to touch the rank grass with fire; so for a moment the watcher seemed to be gazing out across a sea of blood. Then the dark shadows came gliding from the east, the western blaze faded, and Solomon Kane struck out boldly in the gathering darkness.

The road was dim from disuse but was clearly defined. Kane went swiftly but warily, sword and pistols at hand. Stars blinked out and night winds whispered among the grass like weeping specters. The moon began to rise, lean and haggard, like a skull among the stars.

Then suddenly Kane stopped short. From somewhere in front of him sounded a strange and eery echo - or something like an echo. Again, this time louder. Kane started forward again. Were his senses deceiving him? No!

Far out, there pealed a whisper of frightful laughter. And again, closer this time. No human being ever laughed like that - there was no mirth in it, only hatred and horror and soul-destroying terror. Kane halted. He was not afraid, but for the second he was almost unnerved. Then, stabbing through that awesome laughter, came the sound of a scream that was undoubtedly human. Kane started forward, increasing his gait. He cursed the illusive lights and flickering shadows which veiled the moor in the rising moon and made accurate sight impossible. The laughter continued, growing louder, as did the screams. Then sounded faintly the drum of frantic human feet. Kane broke into a run.

Some human was being hunted to his death out there on the fen, and by what manner of horror God alone knew. The sound of the flying feet halted abruptly and the screaming rose unbearably, mingled with other sounds unnamable and hideous. Evidently the man had been overtaken, and Kane, his flesh crawling, visualized some ghastly fiend of the darkness crouching on the back of its victim - crouching and tearing.

Then the noise of a terrible and short struggle came clearly through the abysmal silence of the fen and the footfalls began again, but stumbling and uneven. The screaming continued, but with a gasping gurgle. The sweat stood cold on Kane's forehead and body. This was heaping horror on horror in an intolerable manner.

God, for a moment's clear light! The frightful drama was being enacted within a very short distance of him, to judge by the ease with which the sounds reached him. But this hellish half-light veiled all in shifting shadows, so that the moors appeared a haze of blurred illusions, and stunted trees and bushes seemed like giants.

Kane shouted, striving to increase the speed of his advance. The shrieks of the unknown broke into a hideous shrill squealing; again there was the sound of a struggle, and then from the shadows of the tall grass a thing came reeling - a thing that had once been a man - a gore-covered, frightful thing that fell at Kane's feet and writhed and groveled and raised its terrible face to the rising moon, and gibbered and yammered, and fell down again and died in its own blood.

The moon was up now and the light was better. Kane bent above the body, which lay stark in its unnamable mutilation, and he shuddered - a rare thing for him, who had seen the deeds of the Spanish Inquisition and the witch-finders.

Some wayfarer, he supposed. Then like a hand of ice on his spine he was aware that he was not alone. He looked up, his cold eyes piercing the shadows whence the dead man had staggered. He saw nothing, but he knew - he felt - that other eyes gave back his stare, terrible eyes not of this earth. He straightened and drew a pistol, waiting. The moonlight spread like a lake of pale blood over the moor, and trees and grasses took on their proper sizes.

The shadows melted, and Kane saw! At first he thought it only a shadow of mist, a wisp of moor fog that swayed in the tall grass before him. He gazed. More illusion, he thought. Then the thing began to take on shape, vague and indistinct. Two hideous eyes flamed at him - eyes which held all the stark horror which has been the heritage of man since the fearful dawn ages - eyes frightful and insane, with an insanity transcending earthly insanity. The form of the thing was misty and vague, a brain-shattering travesty on the human form, like, yet horridly unlike. The grass and bushes beyond showed clearly through it.

Kane felt the blood pound in his temples, yet he was as cold as ice. How such an unstable being as that which wavered before him could harm a man in a physical way was more than he could understand, yet the red horror at his feet gave mute testimony that the fiend could act with terrible material effect.

Of one thing Kane was sure: there would be no hunting of him across the dreary moors, no screaming and fleeing to be dragged down again and again. If he must die he would die in his tracks, his wounds in front.

Now a vague and grisly mouth gaped wide and the demoniac laughter again shrieked out, soul-shaking in its nearness. And in the midst of that threat of doom, Kane deliberately leveled his long pistol and fired. A maniacal yell of rage and mockery answered the report, and the thing came at him like a flying sheet of smoke, long shadowy arms stretched to drag him down.

Kane, moving with the dynamic speed of a famished wolf, fired the second pistol with as little effect, snatched his long rapier from its sheath and thrust into the center of the misty attacker. The blade sang as it passed clear through, encountering no solid resistance, and Kane felt icy fingers grip his limbs, bestial talons tear his garments and the skin beneath.

He dropped the useless sword and sought to grapple with his foe. It was like fighting a floating mist, a flying shadow armed with daggerlike claws. His savage blows met empty air, his leanly mighty arms, in whose grasp strong men had died, swept nothingness and clutched emptiness. Naught was solid or real save the flaying, apelike fingers with their crooked talons, and the crazy eyes which burned into the shuddering depths of his soul.

Kane realized that he was in a desperate plight indeed. Already his garments hung in tatters and he bled from a score of deep wounds. But he never flinched, and the thought of flight never entered his mind. He had never fled from a single foe, and had the thought occurred to him he would have flushed with shame.

He saw no help for it now, but that his form should lie there beside the fragments of the other victim, but the thought held no terrors for him. His only wish was to give as good an account of himself as possible before the end came, and if he could, to inflict some damage on his unearthly foe.

There above the dead man's torn body, man fought with demon under the pale light of the rising moon, with all the advantages with the demon, save one. And that one was enough to overcome all the others. For if abstract hate may bring into material substance a ghostly thing, may not courage, equally abstract, form a concrete weapon to combat that ghost?

Kane fought with his arms and his feet and his hands, and he was aware at last that the ghost began to give back before him, that the fearful laughter changed to screams of baffled fury. For man's only weapon is courage that flinches not from the gates of Hell itself, and against such not even the legions of Hell can stand.

Of this Kane knew nothing; he only knew that the talons which tore and rended him seemed to grow weaker and wavering, that a wild light grew and grew in the horrible eyes. And reeling and gasping, he rushed in, grappled the thing at last and threw it, and as they tumbled about on the moor and it writhed and lapped his limbs like a serpent of smoke, his flesh crawled and his hair stood on end, for he began to understand its gibbering.

He did not hear and comprehend as a man hears and comprehends the speech of a man, but the frightful secrets it imparted in whisperings and yammerings and screaming silences sank fingers of ice and flame into his soul, and he knew.


The hut of old Ezra the miser stood by the road in the midst of the swamp, half screened by the sullen trees which grew about it. The walls were rotting, the roof crumbling, and great, pallid and green fungus-monsters clung to it and writhed about the doors and windows, as if seeking to peer within. The trees leaned above it and their gray branches intertwined so that it crouched in the semi-darkness like a monstrous dwarf over whose shoulder ogres leer.

The road which wound down into the swamp, among rotting stumps and rank hummocks and scummy, snake-haunted pools and bogs, crawled past the hut. Many people passed that way these days, but few saw old Ezra, save a glimpse of a yellow face, peering through the fungus-screened windows, itself like an ugly fungus.

Old Ezra the miser partook much of the quality of the swamp, for he was gnarled and bent and sullen; his fingers were like clutching parasitic plants and his locks hung like drab moss above eyes trained to the murk of the swamplands. His eyes were like a dead man's, yet hinted of depths abysmal and loathsome as the dead lakes of the swamplands.

These eyes gleamed now at the man who stood in front of his hut. This man was tall and gaunt and dark, his face was haggard and claw-marked, and he was bandaged of arm and leg. Somewhat behind this man stood a number of villagers.

"You are Ezra of the swamp road?"

"Aye, and what want ye of me?"

"Where is your cousin Gideon, the maniac youth who abode with you?"



"He wandered away into the swamp and never came back. No doubt he lost his way and was set upon by wolves or died in a quagmire or was struck by an adder."

"How long ago?"

"Over a year."

"Aye. Hark ye, Ezra the miser. Soon after your cousin's disappearance, a countryman, coming home across the moors, was set upon by some unknown fiend and torn to pieces, and thereafter it became death to cross those moors. First men of the countryside, then strangers who wandered over the fen, fell to the clutches of the thing. Many men have died, since the first one.

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Savage Tales of Solomon Kane 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 33 reviews.
ryanseanoreilly More than 1 year ago
Why was I not taught about Solomon Kane when I learned about the pilgrims in middle school? Swashbuckling tales of adventure and voodoo. Solomon Kane, the vigilante fanatic driven by demons to journey the world in a relentless and endless quest to destroy as many evil doers as he is physically capable of until he meets his own demise. First of all, this character is impossible and defies all reason. Solomon Kane is a puritan in puritan garb, but armed with daggers, a sword, pistols, a musket and a voodoo staff. He is not a priest, but an avenger of evil. This character is the reason why people like John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger had careers. There is something in the minimalist stroke of these kinds of characters that strikes deep within our souls. They may not be fleshed out or shown in full-color but their limited scenes, dialog and emotions gets across very quickly who they are and what they are all about. They are not flat; they come across by all the mastery of a genius stroke. Robert E. Howard was a master at this, focusing his short-lived but prolific career on powerful characters that stick with you. Like nearly all of Howard's works, Solomon Kane came alive in the serial magazines through short efforts. Given those parameters, Howard's talent clearly shines. Every story he told, he had to reset the character for new readers without overloading on back story (he does this sometimes in just few sentences!). And yet, the stories do sometimes relate back to each other and the character seems to progress within his own timeline. At first Solomon Kane tangles with evil men in England and Europe, but as the stories progress he ends up in Africa and the tales range beyond swashbuckling, and into the "weird" spaces where Howard excelled. Here, Kane, befriends various African tribal peoples and eventually is given his famous stave which he uses as both a weapon and ward against black magic. These elements really get fun when the protagonist is beset with demons and the undead. He even gets into Conan and Kull territory when he has to navigate through ancient temples and secret passages. Yet, Solomon Kane is all his own. He is a lean and cold, efficient avenger of justice. Howard does not bury the story with scripture quotes or biblical conspiracies like many modern authors might be tempted to do, but he does occasionally pepper in elements of religious and secular history. Solomon Kane is also uninhibited by most earthly desires, he has virtually no love interest and has little curiosity in women except a brotherly protectiveness. Again refreshing (in that he doesn't fall into classic romance tropes). This character clearly has a code and keeps consistent, but he is not without struggles. Chiefly he struggles with some strange and mysterious drive that sets him wandering the world waiting for God to lead him to wrongs that must be righted in an almost Calvinist trajectory. He frequently admits that he is a fanatic and will explode in great, violent, berserker furies. This can cause problems for him when his impulses drive him to save the helpless in a rash and gallant move where a more prudent measure might be better served. He also cares deeply for the innocent and good. And there are interesting scenes of inner turmoil where Kane finds, to his dismay, that even his superior fighting and cunning cannot save all the world; and he must occasionally be satiated only with savage acts of revenge and the satisfaction that he has at least temporarily rid some small plot of land from a long-plagued evil that had resided there. On the negative side, these stories were written long ago and Howard suffered from old worldviews on race and evolution (and probably sexism). He was very interested in history and makes many references to racial histories, but there are parts that are somewhat cringe worthy if not offensive. That said, and keeping a historical perspective in mind, Solomon Kane's stories have much merit in them, sometimes refreshingly so. Of note, Howard receives his voodoo staff from an African shaman whom he later dubs his "blood-brother" and he is often found coming to the rescue of African tribes being tortured or oppressed. To be sure, Solomon Kane, is intolerant of all evils whomever may perpetrate them and whomever they may be perpetrated against. Stephen King has made comments to the effect that when Howard hits his stride his writing is charged and electric. This is so true. Howard's words fall into a soulful, blues-groove and speed you along with emotion. You feel the rains beating down and the fury and frustration of Solomon Kane as he screams out against the evil in the world. Like Howard's other characters, it's personal. Which is really amazing, because again this is not a novel and the character spends much of his time hacking and slashing his way through adventures. Still, somehow, someway, and where others have failed--Robert E. Howard always manages to find the right beats and notes to strike a chord in the soul and draw you into his characters. If J.R.R. Tolkien is the "Led Zeppelin" of epic fantasy, then Robert E. Howard is the "Jimmie Hendrix" of heroic fantasy. This book is a collection of (probably) everything Howard ever wrote about the character including a few poems and unfinished stories (even though others have tried to complete these fragments only Howard's original words are presented here). The book is also illustrated throughout and contains a scholarly appendix, short bio on Howard and a few words from HP Lovecraft on Howard's untimely death. A very great addition for anyone looking to get into Howard. Podcast: If you enjoy my review (or this topic) this book and the movie based on it were further discussed/debated in a lively discussion on my podcast: "No Deodorant In Outer Space". The podcast is available on iTunes or our website.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I first saw the comics and it really caught my interest. Then I managed to get hold of a partial copy of the actual short stories and loved it, but it wasn't enough. So when I saw this was comming out I just had to have it. I have enjoyed the book thus far and recomend it to anyone who loves Call of Cthulu. Solomon Kane helping to ease Evil men and women of their lives is thrilling!
robsteiner on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A book of short stories about Solomon Kane, Robert E Howard's Puritan avenging angel. Howard's prose is so visceral that he could make an IRA prospectus thrilling. Great book!
carmelitasita29 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I find short story collections some of the hardest books to read. It's hard to get into a rhythm, and the impetuous to continue on is not there. This book was no exception. Solomon Kane is a fantastical man who sees only right and wrong and goes around the world defeating evil. I found the stories to be rather gothic in emotion and style, and I really had a hard time caring what happened next to this character. Overblown, dramatic, and boring. Not a good combination.
Zare on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Solomon Kane - Puritan adventurer, swordsman with no match and man ready to fight to the very end against injustice and evil-doers wherever they many be. In my opinion one of the greatest book-characters ever.This great collection follows Kane while he hunts down the pirates and murderers, follows a strange call of the deep African jungle - and by doing that goes from one adventure into another, freeing slaves, fighting cannibals, discovering lost cities of old civilizations and all the time coming into contact and fighting ghastly creatures from eons passed.Here are also [unfortunately] unfinished fragments of several tales that just make reader wish for more :)Great collection, great stories.Highly recommended.
bespen on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Solomon Kane, the Puritan avenger. I loved the character from the moment I heard of him. He cuts quite a dashing figure despite, or perhaps because of his somber mode of dress. Kane is not very representative of Puritans, but he nonetheless embodies the sterotype quite well. Fanatical in personality, unadorned in both speech and deportment, and convinced of the absolute sovereignty of God. He never sought to analyze his motives and he never wavered once his mind was made up. Though he always acted on impulse, he firmly believed that all his actions were governed by cold and logical reasonings. He was a man born out of his time--a strange blending of Puritan and Cavalier, with a touch of the ancient philosopher, and more than a touch of the pagan, though the last assertion would have shocked him unspeakably. An atavist of the days of blind chivalry he was, a knight-errant in the somber clothes of a fanatic. A hunger in his soul drove him on and on, and urge to right all wrongs, protect all weaker things, avenge all crimes against right and justice. Wayward and restless as the wind, he was consistent in only one respect--he was true to his ideals of justice and right. Such was Solomon Kane.I think the most remarkable facet of his personality is his steadfastness. Swashbuckling heroes of penny dreadfuls typically wield a sword pretty well, but Kane is completely incorruptible. There is simply no point in trying to tempt him because he knows God always triumphs in the end, so there is no point in delaying the inevitable. In fact, he might as well just get on with killing the wicked and be done with it.My favorite story of the collection is Wings in the Night. Kane finds the remnant of a colony of harpies driven south into Africa by Jason in the Age of Heroes. He fights off an attack by the harpies, and badly wounded, recuperates in a local village that has been forced to offer up a sacrifice from amongst themselves in exchange for the protection afforded by the proximity of the harpies against the more vicious tribes living nearby. Initially, the village enjoys a period of respite because the harpies fear Kane, but eventually they simply decide to massacre the villagers for sport whilst avoiding Kane as best they can.Uncharacteristically, Kane curses the heavens for the cruelty of the world, because the villagers had placed a naive trust in him that he knew would come to naught. Yet he could not leave them to the harpies, and he did not have the weapons to overcome the harpies' superior numbers, so he simply waited until doom arrived. Kane of course cleanses the earth of the vile creatures, the but the cost is terrible. There is no attempt to justify this in the name of a greater good or explain God's ways to man, Kane simply avenges the fallen and moves on.An interesting facet of the Kane stories is the idea that the old magic is fading away from the world. Kane, being a tool of God's justice, always defeats the evil creatures he finds before him, even when greater men than he have previously failed. Like the work of his friend Lovecraft, the world of Solomon Kane is full of dark magic that is literally incomprehensible to mere men, but unlike Lovecraft's worlds, justice does indeed prosper at the hands of Solomon Kane. I was reminded of Tim Powers' The Drawing of the Dark and The Anubis Gates.In both of these books, strange magic lingers from the early ages of the world, but the reign of magic over the Earth has been forever broken, even though a vestige of its former power remains. For Powers, there is indeed a pivotal act in history that has rendered everything forever different, and there is a likeness to be seen in Solomon Kane. Kane vanquishes a demon sealed away in East Africa by King Solomon himself, precisely because he is a lesser man than King Solomon. Unlike his namesake, Kane serves faithfully, and so can now vanquish what was formerly merely restrained.Thus it is somehow fitting that several of the Kane stories
yarriofultramar on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Seven short stories available on Gutenberg Australia. First few are so-so but later concerning Kane in Africa fighting Zombie Vampires, Slavers and Harpies are superb. I was supervised by relative openness of Howard toward Africans, especially when you compare him to racist Lovecraft. Another surprising feature of these stories is relative "realism" of Kane Heroics. He is powerful warrior but he is no Conan. He needs help of others and a dose of luck to supplement his skills. Quite different from what I expected. Savage Tales of Salomon Kane are really entertaining stories and Kane is a memorable hero. Definitely worth of time.
davide.mana on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Some of Howard's best prose, a fair sample of his poetry and what is certainly his most mature, three-dimensional character, in a lavishly illustrated edition.An ideal tool to introduce the delights of R.E. Howard to those readers thatshrug off Conan the Cimmerian.
badgenome on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Howard's characters tend to be cynical mercenaries, hulking bruisers, or both, but Solomon Kane - a lithe, hawk-faced knight-errant with something of the religious fanatic about him - is cut from a whole different bolt of cloth as REH's famous Cimmerian. In many ways, he's Howard's most compelling character, and The Savage Tales... compiles every story, poem, and fragment into which he figured. Many of the stories take place in deepest, darkest Africa, which creates some interesting dynamics for Kane and his Puritan mores, and also provides a perfect setting for Howard to weave his grim magic.
Meren on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Solomon Kane is an excellent anti-hero, willing to do anything to combat the forces of darkness. He travels the land encountering various injustices and supernatural events. In many of the tales he acts mostly as an observer.
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gunnclan More than 1 year ago
Excellent, classic collection
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