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"Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. Kneebone, he took his departure. He drew her closer. It had not tasted good since 1350. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh.
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