Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. The simile started a laugh in his throat. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. “The twins were left with his sister, Cris. Sir John once more looked around him. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat.
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