" "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. His hand flew across the paper. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. It needs cultivating, I think. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. Someone was coming out of the house. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques.
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