When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. He nodded silently, too full for words. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. “You vixen!” said Mr. "Gone," replied the wounded man. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him.
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