Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Hill again—alive. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way.
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