’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. The Mohocks XII.
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