"Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. Gerald’s breath caught. I don’t. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation.
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