The Color of the Ruin

The two lads stood looking at each other. Whoever he might be, their invisible neighbor was just beyond the ruin. The color came into Matrim's face; next moment he had crossed the fallen rafter and was climbing cautiously on a huge pile of lumber that filled the roofless house. Dick would have withheld him, had he bit in time, as it was he was feigned to follow. Upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron cauldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire.

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