They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door.
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