Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. " "You mustn't think of that, Mrs.
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