“Yes. From what do you wish to be rescued?’ The girl fluttered her eyelashes, sighed dramatically and spread her hands. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out.
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