"Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. Rowland's plans were quickly formed, and as quickly executed. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical.
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