Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. He carried a small bag. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures. B.
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