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. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. He brought me past this house, and I thought I would call and leave your brother’s letter. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish.
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