Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control.
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