Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house.
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