The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. . Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. "Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr.
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