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was almost as bad as those for whom he felt such contempt for wailing in despair. Fear was paralyzing him too, and it was little to his credit that he did not wail aloud but stood still and let disaster overtake him. |
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"Come down," he said to Joanna, "take off your clothes, everything except your shift. Soak them in the rain barrel. Quick." |
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As he spoke he unbelted his sword and fastened it to the saddle, pulled off his tunic and shirt and threw them into the barrel. Then he laid his ax between his feet and turned to pull Joanna from the horse and undress her by force if she were too frightened to move. She was frightened; her eyes were staring so wide that whites showed all around the iris and she was trembling. Nonetheless her training held good. When there was something to do, she could do it no matter what her fear. She had slid down herself and her cotte was already in the barrel. Geoffrey fished out his shirt. She was just dropping her tunic in after it when she saw him binding the sopping shirt over the horse's head so that the animal could not see and would draw in air through the cooling medium of the wet cloth. Joanna did not need to be told further. She pulled on her soaking wet tunic as Geoffrey drew on his own. |
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"Tear it in half," she gasped, offering the cotte. |
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"You will need it," he protested. |
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"If you die, I will die also," Joanna sobbed. |
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That, of course, was true, Geoffrey realized. He tore the cotte in half down the seams and wrapped it around his head and face while Joanna adjusted her share. Then, with a desperate effort, he raised the barrel and tipped a generous portion of its contents over Joanna so that she was soaked anew. After that, she helping, they raised it further and soaked the horse as well as they could. The remaining little, Geoffrey tipped over himself. Together they turned to face the wall of flame. |
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"Take me in your arms, Geoffrey," Joanna whispered, "I am afraid." |
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He could not do that because it would place her where she |
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