Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. She’s taken my sword. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest.
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