Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. We’ll make short work of them. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. The likeness was ridiculous.
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