His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor.
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