Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. Gina, the eleven year old, just couldn’t take it and she ran away. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. “My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle.
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