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Sir Rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?" "I do," answered Trenchard, in the same tone. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. " "You shall not stir a footstep.
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