Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. ” He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in her tone, and he at once abandoned the subject. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. ” He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back to the map. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck.
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