" "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon.
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