Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “I think I ought to have one. The latch had not fully caught. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. I throw up work—everything! I just teach in one school, one good school, three days a week. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day.
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