As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. ’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. He was a stranger.
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