“In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. 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. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued.
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