"Is it poison?" she asked. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. " "That kind of talk makes you sound like a white man. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship.
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