If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. I'm not particular what or where. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books.
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