“You need not be alarmed,” he said. Spurling, drily. So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. . Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. It was then for the first time she remembered that she had said nothing to her sister of the man in the hospital. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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