Only promise me this. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart.
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