The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. "You remember that starling, Sir Rowland," he said maliciously, "and what occurred on it, twelve years ago?" "Too well," answered the knight, frowning. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. One who steals.
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