"Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. “You must pack for me. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving.
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