"
"I don't understand. At Bridgetown three years ago there was a
Spanish raid, and things were done that should have been impossible
to men, horrible, revolting things which strain belief, which seem,
when I think of them now, like the illusions of some evil dream.
Are men just beasts?"
"Men?" said Lord Julian, staring. "Say Spaniards, and I'll agree."
He was an Englishman speaking of hereditary foes. And yet there
was a measure of truth in what he said. "This is the Spanish way
in the New World. Faith, almost it justifies such men as Blood of
what they do."
She shivered, as if cold, and setting her elbows on the table, she
took her chin in her hands, and sat staring before her.
Observing her, his lordship noticed how drawn and white her face
had grown. There was reason enough for that, and for worse. Not
any other woman of his acquaintance would have preserved her
self-control in such an ordeal; and of fear, at least, at no time
had Miss Bishop shown any sign. It is impossible that he did not
find her admirable.
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