His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. There was no one stirring in the flats. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites.
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