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. The air was pungent and leaden. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. ‘Wait a minute, though. ’ ‘And who, may I ask, is Dorothée?’ asked Gerald.
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