Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone.
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