Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough.
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