a customary acknowledgement of one's opponentVauxhall Garden, London
"Somewhere in heaven, Maestro Angelo weeps."
"Who said that?" Young Lord "Figgy" Figburt, demonstrating a parry for his teenage companions, wheeled about. He peered down Vauxhall Garden's dimly lit Lovers Walk to see who'd invoked the name of the last century's greatest swordsmaster.
"I did." A tall, graceful figure detached itself from the surrounding shadows, like darkness coalescing into form and substance, and glided toward them. "I tried to refrain from interfering; I meant to pass...