When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. My heart cannot take it. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Just my room. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male.
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