“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know.
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