But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it.
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