" The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. ’ He glanced at the captain. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. Only you good ones— shirk. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog.
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