‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding.
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