‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. It took my breath away. You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. “I’m next, Mr. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. You’ll end up dead, that’s what.
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