This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. Well, it's scarcely credible. And here's the proof. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. I never have known you. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. " "I see. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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