His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. Nobody toys with me.
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