. ’ He stared at the point, glanced at the fallen sword imprisoned by her foot, and only just looked back at her weapon in time to see it thrust at him again. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. I’m fine. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence.
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