It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders.
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