She had heard the trader utter it many times. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. Nothing at all. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith.
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