Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears.
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