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Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. For a space he rode the whirligig. " The Wastrel laughed. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. ’” Anna made no remark.

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