You heard her. " "Do not distress him, dear father," said Winifred; "he suffers deeply. "Hell's curses!" roared Jonathan. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. ‘This idiotic female—’ ‘This imbecile has made me—’ ‘—made me lose my temper, and I—’ ‘—cut him with my dagger, and he is—’ ‘—damn near slit her throat!’ ‘—bleeding like a pig!’ ‘Whoa, whoa!’ stormed the captain, starting forward. Good riddance.
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