Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. This is retribution. 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. Her little white hand stole across the table. ‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating.
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