Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. "Let us sit here," she said, indicating the white sand bordering the lagoon; "and in a minute or two you will see something quite wonderful. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. In order to make Mr.
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