. . .

For a moment Vaenwode is lost in the man-wroth, the disordered thinking that afflicts a thief at such a time; he imagines that he could plunge himself likewise into the boiling water and be gone.

He shakes it off.

Instead he shoves the pot over on its side, scrambles up the stairs and through the secret panel and out, and runs.

A watch-wren sees him; calls raucous warning.

It is dawn.

Hans’ farm is awake.

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