He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. ‘You and Jarvis Remenham both, yes. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy.
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