He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean.
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