Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. “Dear me!” he said. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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