“Is this a concession to Mrs. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. It was intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him.
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