Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. It is dull—deadly dull. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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