Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. His smile faded.
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