Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. I will teach you how to make that little sufficient. He chuckled. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,—mind that.
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