She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. "And the next time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you he shan't look for one in vain. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. He advanced a step towards her. Loneliness.
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