She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell.
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