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Updated: May 4, 2025
And Ronador admitted with stiff, white lips that some nameless God of Malice had made capital of his bullet, stirring his heart into admiration for the fearless girl who had stood so gallantly by the fire in a storm-haunted wood. In the heart of the forest a happier solution had come to him and eliminated the sinister thought of murder.
The wind, wafting from the rain which splashed in the pool of Mic-co's court, might have told, but the wind, with the business of rain upon its mind, was reticent. "And Ronador?" "I have not forgotten." "He is waiting." "Yes. Day by day I have put off the thought of the inevitable reckoning. It is another reason why presently I must hurry away." "A singular trio of suitors!" sighed the rain.
By the pool Ronador leaped suddenly, his face quite colorless save where the flame of fever burned in his cheeks. "That Voice!" he said, standing in curious attitude of listening. "You hear it, Tregar? Always always it comes so in the quietest hours. Tell him! Tell him! Why should I tell him? What is he to me? I may not purchase relief at the price of any man's respect. Only Tregar knows. Hush!
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