She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. "The key," replied the widow. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. Your pursuers are below.
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