He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. She spoke slowly. Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner.
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