"Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums.
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