" "Mine is Howard Spurlock. His eyes were bright with the hunt. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. He gave you a poison. The elements were wrathful as their passions. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. "Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. " "To be opened in case of my death," added Spurlock.
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