I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness.
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