” Ann Veronica picked a cornflower. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. She still kicked herself for it. Now go. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. "Well, Sir Rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "I will not gainsay your words. It’s not like we’re getting married.
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