She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. 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. “Is it your maid?” he asked. It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. ‘No, I do not go back. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast.
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