To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. “I did it for love of you,” he said. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. I defy you to explain it away.
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