She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. ‘Odd sort of a nun. His literary instincts began to stir. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek.
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