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Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. " "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech.
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