With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. This is no place for me. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. Wood.
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