‘Don’t fob me off, boy. She kept trying to shut her legs, to stop the baby from coming out. "Is it poison?" she asked. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. Just as he was preparing to follow, the wherry containing Rowland and his men, which had drifted in their wake, was dashed against his boat. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean.
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