Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. “Go on,” he said. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. "I understand," she said.
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