The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. ‘Point it at me. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. G'night, kids. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all.
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