Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. He made his speech a little elaborately. I merely mention these circumstances to show the accuracy of my information. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. 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.
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