Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt.
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