It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. Blueskin will go with you,—for fear of a mistake. You will be with me. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically.
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