. Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint.
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