” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. " "It was Blueskin," observed Jack.
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