Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Hoped you'd not be retaken. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. Maybe half a year, counting this summer.
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