"Have you been more successful, Sir?" ventured Ireton. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. One OUGHT to want to please her. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals.
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