He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. She hit the villain with it. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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