" "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. ” “Of course,” his friend answered. ” He retorted smartly, looking at her with mischief. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child.
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