“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part.
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