Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. . Barring that the Valade fellow had sneaked back. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her.
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