She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them.
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