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Updated: May 5, 2025
Besides, it is too late! "Martin!" A rush of blood came to his lips, and Drogo of Harengod fell back a corpse on the blood-stained grass. Hubert gazed upon him a moment, then loosed the armour to give him air, but it was all over. "God rest his soul. Our enmity is over, but what did he mean about the key?" He felt in the gypsire of the dead enemy. There was a key, unsightly, rusty, and heavy.
But before starting from home he left secret instructions, which will disclose themselves ere long. As the thought of unmanly violence against an imprisoned captive came into his mind, by chance his hand came into contact with a hard object in his pouch or gypsire. He drew it forth. It was the key of Martin's dungeon. "Oh, joy! Oh, good luck!
Martin, now awake, dashed from his couch no fiend was there he tore his gypsire open, took out the coin, opened his casement, and threw it like an accursed thing into the street. Then he got in bed again and sobbed like a child.
The young lord has not left it with me." The men looked at each other. "He locked it himself, this morning, and put the key into his gypsire." "And he has gone off with it. Doubtless he will send it back directly he finds it there." "I doubt it." "Shall we send after him?" "No!" said Marboeuf. "He is a friar. We must not let him starve." "Humph! It will not be our fault.
He was awoke by a hideous purring; there, as he thought, upon his cast-off garments, sat the enemy of mankind: he had drawn the mark gained at the dice out of the gypsire, and was feasting on it with his eyes, ever and anon licking it with great gusto, and meanwhile purr, purr, purring like a huge cat.
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