‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. ’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. “Beats me. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest.
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