Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. He got off on it. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. ‘She wants me to marry her. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full. "I guessed as much. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all.
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