Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. It was a brief solitude, however.
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