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"But the Voodoo stone?" said Jen, wondering what she meant. Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh. "Very good." Etwald walked toward the door, but there, struck by a sudden thought, he looked back. "Of course you will not tell Isabella that she killed Mr. Alymer?" he said, hurriedly..
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"It's that air of real hard study that makes it so good," said Elinor, twirling the stool to catch every view of the figure. "I don't know how you managed to get it so well." "I have been all over the world, Mr. Alymer," parried Etwald, dexterously. However, he did not say anything further at the moment, but walked beside Isabella toward The Wigwam. Behind them Maurice strolled slowly, fuming and fretting at the attitude assumed by Etwald by the side of Isabella. She cast a backward glance at his frowning face, and to avert possible trouble she began hastily to question the doctor about the strange conduct of Dido. Maurice paused, reflected, and looked anxiously at Jen..
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