He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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