Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. "Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes.
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