"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. " She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears.
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