Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. "They'll escape. Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. ‘You won’t get a thing out of her.
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