The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. The ruffian's companions took his part. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words.
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