In those days a lad was taught to shine up his armour as carefully
as now he would be expected to polish his boots, and it was a
pleasure to Louis to sit down with sand and buff-leather in the
narrow window of the tower, and rub away at the steel until his arm
ached. Then when the sunlight trickled over the mesh as brightly as
it ever did, he began his scar-hunting. Then he rubbed his eyes
with amazement, for scar there was none! Not a link was broken, not
a dent. Only on one shoulder lay a thin shadow when the light was
right, clearly the score of a swashing blow yet too shallow to be
called a scar. What a wonderful thing was this!
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