\" Lucy replied. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre. Last week. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear.
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