Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. " The Wastrel laughed. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him.
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