“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. ‘Have you any more pretty toys like that knife about you?’ ‘The girl’s a regular arsenal,’ Hilary snapped, giving up into his senior’s hand the nasty little weapon he had snatched. " "Devil!" muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol.
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