She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. Have I your final answer?" "You have, Sir Rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word.
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