Wagstaff. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. Twenty-one, twenty-two. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay.
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