Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. " "You delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, entirely recovering his cheerfulness of look. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. “Shut up, you little faggot. "I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met," he said; "though how long ago that is, I scarcely know.
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