She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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