I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. She had killed him. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. “Yes. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors.
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