His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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