Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
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