Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. That’s all about it. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
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