m. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. I wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be so,—which I doubt. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. Brendon. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine.
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