Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. The Ragged Edge. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. “No, he grabbed my hand. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Okay, I guess.
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