A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. I thank God for His sunlight on your face.
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