” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. ” She hesitated and looked for a moment straight into his eyes. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity.
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