’ Mrs Sindlesham’s alert glance found his. 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 carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She had lost it. She still had her letter of credit. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. It probably still wouldn’t help. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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