And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. . That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden.
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