She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Girls screamed in chorus. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “I am one who controls most of the Church, dear. Not much. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice.
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