A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. He had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm, and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his opponent escape. She advanced, stabbing at him. ‘Quick, Gérard.
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