She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. "Sir Cecil is no more. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end.
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