‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. “My hand! This isn’t the place. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Then her fingers moved. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction.
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