"The last most of all. But they are sharp-nosed as hounds, and unless we go warily they will give us the slip, and we must fall back on lesser game."
"Le Fevre." Oates mouthed the name. "The Queen's confessor. I was spit upon by him at St. Omer, and would waipe out the affront. A dog of a Frainch priest! A man I have long abhaarred."
"So also have I." Prance had venom in his level voice. "But he is no Frenchman. He is English as you—a Phayre out of Huntingdon."