Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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