He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target.
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