“Who are you?” She asked innocently. 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 was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. She felt the warm nearness of his. Don't feel fussed upon my account. So the talk went on. Then the foremost bowed and passed on. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. Wudd I'm here, and have brought him a message from his unlawful son, and don't be detainin' me, my darlin', for there's not a minute to lose if the poor lad's to be recused from the clutches of that thief and thief-taker o' the wurld, Jonathan Wild.
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