"Not my king's," returned Wood. “But if you knew anything of that—” “I did. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “You yourself have decided that—apart from the question of Annabel. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. The rogue took everything we had. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head.
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