She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue.
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