There were lines in her face that age had not put there. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. The chance had gone. "Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. "Then it is not too late to save him. . ’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. " "He may learn how to defeat yours," replied Jack.
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