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"Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce. There'll be a fall of above twelve foot o' water, and think o' that on a night as 'ud blow a whole fleet to the devil. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. \" She looked at Mike. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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