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But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. Such a mystery as you have set up. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. And your great-niece. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly.
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