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She went to the window, and had already raised the lower part until it jammed, when there came running beneath an angry woman, threatening with gesture and unintelligible words. It was Fridji, who was once Sir Randal's parlour-maid, and last night Melchard's companion in the car. Amaryllis drew back and looked round the room for her gown the green silk she had worn at dinner last night.
Fridji the parlour-maid was jealous, was angry, and was making her Melchard a scene! Oh, but how funny things would be if they weren't so beastly! But Dutch Fridji, having no humour, entered the room in the worst temper of a depraved woman. "You want breakfast?" she said, locking the door and taking out the key. Amaryllis looked up with disdainful laziness.
Returning to Amaryllis, he stood once more looking down at her. He could not carry her in her present state two miles across the moor in the growing heat, and with only one of their five enemies safely dead, while the four others hung on his flank, cunning and desperate, if able to think and act. And there was Fridji she was surely herself again either screaming or at liberty.
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