And before Kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again.
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