Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. He turned back at once. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. We want it badly at the present time.
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