The water was cold but she waded deeper. ‘And what is it you’re to rescue her from, I should like to know. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. He could not quite make her out; a new type. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice.
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