Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet.
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