"Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. She recalled him. ‘But you are idiot. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea.
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