"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. “If you speak—farewell. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. "Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. . We're lost.
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