“What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels.
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