Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. So is the chapel of All Souls at Oxford, and the great hall at Blenheim, and I don't know how many halls and chapels besides. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. None at all. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively.
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