’ But I made sure it was you. You do not know him. She is no longer mine; she is yours. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion.
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