Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made.
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