’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. "This is your work," said the knight, sternly. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter.
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