One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. "For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. "Well, he won't do that here. "I understand," she said.
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