No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. 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. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck.
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