"Dying, Sir Rowland. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. ‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. What was their surprise to find it vacant, and the prisoner gone! Jonathan, could scarcely believe his eyes. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her.
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