She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. He caught the smirk. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. It was a brief solitude, however. . .
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