Austin departed, and presently afterwards returned with the two subordinate officers, each of whom wore a leathern apron round his waist, and carried a large hammer. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin.
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