He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. She was like an angel with one wing. He held her eyes. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" he cried, shouting after the Irishman, who took to his heels as soon as he found his murderous attempt unsuccessful; "you may run, but you'll not get out of my reach. Yon must be mine to-night. For a time she promenaded the room. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend.
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