“You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. It worked. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. But I expect him back every minute. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully.
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