The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Her steps slowed. ” “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued.
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