‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband.
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