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Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Ramage did not know. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question.
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