She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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