’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. It was a dead calm. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. “Not only that,” he answered. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman.
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