I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. ‘Must be another of her lies. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door.
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