Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. You can pay me when we return. But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. “Now bite as hard as you can, John. ” “But your dinner!” she protested. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she.
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