‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. ” He rolled his eyes, trying 190 to conceal pride. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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