The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. “I’ve gotta go. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. The bodies had been found in the river without their heads, which were busy decomposing in a ravine.
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