The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. . ’ The lodgekeeper’s jaw fell open. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Not then. Ownership seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a daughter’s upbringing. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. It was empty. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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