The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. . The noose was at its throat when I called for help. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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