I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. “Why not?” He asked. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell.
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