Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping.
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