net/license). So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. “Of course!” he said. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. ” He turned upon her almost fiercely. . A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. It was true. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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