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CHAPTER XXVII. It was eleven o'clock. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. "That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. " Winifred looked as if she could not indulge such a supposition for a single moment. "It's strange the antipathy he bears to Sheppard.
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