Wood. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. He and her father shook hands manfully. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. CHAPTER XXI.
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