"It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile. Lost ground must be regained. You cannot—shall not retreat. ’ Roding’s voice changed. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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