Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. The psychic vibration of him thickened the air of the room as if he were already inside. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. No good at all.
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