A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. Anyhow, that is how things are. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face.
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