" "I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. " The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. Above her head was an aura of white fire. The chair was torture. "These are my terms, Sir Rowland," he added, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, and pushing it towards the knight. " "I see," remarked Kneebone. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. ‘We don’t know who she is. We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired, or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily.
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