It was then, I am sure, empty. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. She left for good after he fell asleep.
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