Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. ‘Eh bien, pig. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain.
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