“You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. "Be silent," said Jonathan, striding deliberately into the room; "these cries will avail you nothing. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. .
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