Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. ’ He stared at the point, glanced at the fallen sword imprisoned by her foot, and only just looked back at her weapon in time to see it thrust at him again. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow.
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