He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard.
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