It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. It will be altogether you. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized.
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