" "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well.
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