She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. I meant to give him a drubbing.
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