"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. “I’ve got bad faults. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror.
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