‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. 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.
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