They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. "'Sdeath! why am I not obeyed?" exclaimed the knight, angrily.
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