She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. This time he couldn't get far. .
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