Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. You do not believe me. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. Our quarrel's quite over.
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