A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. . Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair.
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