Cocking the gun. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. A brief calm succeeded. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. Nothing seemed to be amiss.
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