Several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled.
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