Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. ” She spoke with a certain asperity. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. But, you see, I’m smirched.
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