1. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. Besides—there is Sir John. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations.
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