"Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. Why? Here was a curtain indeed.
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