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In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. The stain upon our family is only half effaced: I have sworn the death of the villain and his bastard, and I will keep my oath. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. To be ill and helpless.
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