Montressor’s guests. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. But there was no sign from her. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will.
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