She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. "No!" she cried. "Now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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