Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. I hated him.
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