I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. 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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