The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. “You have the temperament,” he said. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin.
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