She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. But Blueskin was not to be silenced. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. They are their mother’s sons.
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