"Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. It had been a very long time.
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