And I have no more the pistol. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. A sob was strangled in her throat. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr.
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