’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. I should have known at a glance if it was.
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