But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by Jonathan and his janizaries. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up.
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