I'm sure she'll let me go, though. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. Worse than any man. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. CHAPTER XX.
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