‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. Wood. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. " The lack of a family album for some reason put a little ache in her heart. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. Leonardo would not have married her.
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