His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Blueskin fought his way towards it, and exerting all his strength, cutting right and left as he proceeded, reached it at the same time. I’ll get in trouble. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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