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iris. He saw, but he did not understand the cold fire in them. The flickers of green and gold which increased their beauty he put down to the reflection of the torchlight. Neither did he notice the strong white teeth come together with a snap or the jut of the small round jaw. |
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"Poor frightened little bird," John murmured, and leaned forward across the embroidery frame with a hand held out to lift Alinor's chin. |
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Alinor braced herself against the heavy chair and rammed the embroidery frame forward with all the strength of her sturdy arms. It caught John in the lower abdomen, knocked the wind from him, and sent him staggering back to crash against the wall. He screamed with rage and pain, but was helpless for just long enough for Alinor to leap to her feet and seize a torch in her left hand. Her knife was already bare in her right. |
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"Bitch!" John shrieked and started for her. |
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Alinor lowered the torch suggestively. It hissed and roared as the angle let the flame come in contact with more pitch than usual. John's eyes flicked from the flame to the knife, which was not held in any dainty, feminine grip but as a knife fighter holds his weapon. Simon had taught her that hold and how to thrust to do the most damage after the kidnap attempt. John might have chanced the knife anyway, trusting to his longer reach, but not the torch. Burning pitch takes the flesh with it when it is removed. |
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"Foul, fool bitch," he snarled. "I might have let your husband live if you had yielded. Now he will die, and after you have looked well upon his bloody corpse, you will howl for me like the foul bitch you are. Yes, you will howl at my pleasure." |
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