Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. ‘But tell me this instead. But after all, Mrs. “Why should it matter?” he said. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story.
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