She was struck by a change in his appearance. Other things came. ‘Precisely. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. Outside the door he turned and stared at the panels. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. The horror of those few minutes was still with her.
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