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Well, she can trust in me." "They say," the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, and inquired at the proper place, there would be a reward." The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly. "Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to Scar Balta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, because I'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?"
I, Deacon Homms, claim the reward!" the old man screamed. "She is the princess; I know her. She came out of the canal to tempt me! She is the Princess Sira. Now shall I at last enter the Palace of Joys! I claim the 100,000 dollars!" But he still had to catch Sira.
Homms and Sira were rapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of character herself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without any prying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilled her, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant. "I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully. "You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me."
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