There was little fighting spirit here. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm.
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