Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. “Go on!” she commanded. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. "Has Jack displeased you? If so, overlook his fault this once. He nodded. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. .
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