Saviour's Stairs. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. There was hope for me then. Listen, you. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away.
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