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. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “Oh, there’s no doubt of it! Since the girls of the eighties broke bounds and sailed away on bicycles—my young days go back to the very beginnings of that —it’s been one triumphant relaxation.
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