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He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten.
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