He was a second too late. Ducking, the felt-capped man, muscles hard, dragged himself out of that grasp and, flinging off to one side, got his balance, glanced once at Jerott, and then darted off into the darkness. After the first step, breathing hard, Jerott stayed where he was, swearing. But he could hardly leave Lymond. He looked up. ‘Bravo,’ said Francis Crawford, sitting crosslegged on top of the wall, his hood shaken free on his shoulders. ‘You’re a credit to the bloody Order, aren’t you? You know you’ve got a knife in your hand?
Dorothy DunnettAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: August 25, 1923
- Died: November 9, 2001
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I do, however, get along fine with apes and I have worked sack of potatoes in front of the camera. Trainers tell me they like my voice and that because I treat them as people they like me. Well, it’s easy to do, since some of them are people and easier to work with than some—people, I mean actors.
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