Followed by Van Galgebrok and others of his retinue, he then rushed into the room, where Rowland, Sir Cecil, and their attendants, stood with drawn swords prepared to receive them. 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. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. "It is past," said Jack, placing his finger on the trigger. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful.
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