Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin.
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