Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse.
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