"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. She confronted him with his own double-standard. Stir a foot, and I strike. “It was fine and brave of you. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. I’m fine. ’ He grimaced. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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