I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Kneebone made his appearance. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again.
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