Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. “Which one?” “The Miss Pellissier in whose rooms you were, and who sings at the ‘Unusual,’” Courtlaw answered. Around her neck was a little gold chain.
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