"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. ” Sir John smiled.
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