She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. "She wouldn't let me go. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. “But your hair,” he gasped.
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