Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. She picked up the hand cannon. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. "I lost a very valuable one some time ago. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively.
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