A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia.
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