It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. He told some of the particulars. Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of exultation. “Yes, I know.
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