“By Jove!” he exclaimed. Brendon dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. I’ll protect you!” He cried. He fixed it. Wood, popping her head through the window. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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