] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. I must bless him before I die. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. And who is the man you are not allowed to marry? Valade, perhaps?’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up. It was Blueskin.
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