No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. We men are like children. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. It was impulsive and natural. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said.
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