Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. Cathy Beck was outraged. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. Do sit down, dear boy. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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