Entranced, he stared at the name. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. She was alone with a deadly enemy. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. But after that it was easy. Brewis had told him the Valade family had been victim to wholesale murder, and a twinge of compassion had wrung even his deliberately hardened heart. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation.
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