"Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them.
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