There were no mourners. She felt like a dried-up old woman. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. Her commander, Rykhart Van Galgebrok, is devoted to my interests.
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