The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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