Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “We should get out of here. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. Ireton, you are in league with him. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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