Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. "Bravo!" shouted Blueskin. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue.
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