The Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. Then she went into the office. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. "It is open," replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt.
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