But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Her long arms handled the sword with a memorized ease and grace. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers.
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