One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. She’s taken my sword. “You need not be alarmed,” he said. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. She pulled him down by his lapels and arched her head readily towards his neck. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. It slid off flimsily. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws.
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