His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Get a license—just an idea of mine. Die game. “Let’s go. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. " "I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister. Ramage, I came here—I didn’t suppose for one moment you would dare —” “Nonsense! That is your mistake! You are too intellectual.
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