But do you think he foresaw that Twelvetrees would call him out? Well, yes, I suppose he did," Hal answered himself. "Twelvetrees couldn't do otherwise. But does Fraser want this duel?" Grey saw what his brother was getting at and shook his head. "You mean that we might be doing him a favor by preventing his fighting. No." He smiled affectionately at his brother and put down his cup. "It's simple, Hal. Put yourself in his place, and think what you'd do. He may not be an Englishman, but his honor is equal to yours, and so is his determination. I could not pay him a greater compliment." "Hmmph," said Hal, and flushed a little. "Well. Had you better take him to the salle des armes tomorrow, then? Give him a bit of practice before he meets Twelvetrees? Supposing he does choose swords." "I don't think there will be time." The feeling of calm was spreading; he felt almost as though he floated in the warm light of fire and candles, as though it bore him up. Hal was staring at him suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?" "I thought it out this afternoon, and reached the same conclusions that we have just come to. Then I sent a note to Edward Twelvetrees, demanding satisfaction for his insult to me at the club." Hal's jaw dropped. "You … what?" Grey reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the crumpled note. "And he's replied. Six o'clock tomorrow morning, in the gardens behind Lambeth Palace. Sabers. Odd, that. I should have thought he'd be a rapier man.
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ The Scottish Prisoner ]
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