She followed the official back into his room. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. ” She came closer. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books.
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