His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised Blueskin.
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