’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. The mummies were tossed into the collection. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. A young man was playing the banjo. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. " "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone. .
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