Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. While he was filling his pockets with golden coin from this store, Blueskin had pulled the plate-chest from under the bed, and having forced it open, began filling a canvass bag with its contents,—silver coffee-pots, chocolate-dishes, waiters trays, tankards, goblets, and candlesticks. But his grief was of short duration. She wanted his attention, but so did everyone else. Then she looked up at Brendon. She understood.
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