"It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. The body of Sir Rowland was then laid on the large table. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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