"And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. Give me my pistol and my dagger. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. My reception at West Kensington you know of. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions.
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