One of the coolies held the paper lantern. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. “Well, I don’t feel like standing it. Why don’t you make sure before you rush out like that upon a stranger?” “You were with my wife,” Hill repeated sullenly.
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