The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. Ramage—about the forty pounds. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. Light the lantern. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. ’ Fury was in her face.
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