There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. Her answer was not quite ready. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling.
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