Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. “I changed my last shilling yesterday. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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