"Will he post the cole? Will he come down with the dues? Ask him that?" cried Blueskin. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover.
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