Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. “I am staying at the Savoy. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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