So she approached him with sandwiches. I’m right again now. ‘Come, cry a truce. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening.
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