She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. “But if you had?” she said. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. And the jailers also retired. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. It was the incendiary intellectuals of the bourgeoisie, with their militant ideas of revolution, who had raised the populace to a pitch of violence resulting in cases of wholesale slaughter—such as had overtaken the Valades.
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