Arthur Arthur My own sister’s son! In my own house, treason! Bedivere Bedivere It may be nothing, But one I sent on a night-errand saw A man disguised and muffled stealing up From where the rebels lay. A camp-fire chanced To blaze up on a sudden out of smoke. The face was Mordred’s. [Pg 24] [Pg 24] Arthur Arthur Mordred, false to me! Treachery in my own house, Bedivere. Bedivere Bedivere
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