Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. “You, too,” he said abruptly. She ought to have leapt back on guard. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. "What a wonderful colour!" she exclaimed. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. ‘Go then. Take, if you please, your own pistol. " "I was never going to tell anybody," she added. I haven’t, anyhow. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously.
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