The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Play fair with her. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something.
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