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’ ‘But you managed to escape nevertheless,’ Gerald said calmly, ‘disguising yourself as a nun. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen.
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