The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. ” He looked at her with white, set face. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. " The lad made no answer, but left the room. Fifty sent home.
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