Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. A carpenter's daughter is no fit match for a peer of France.
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