By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. As they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard. No offence, I hope. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. Cathy and Shari toiled over boiling pots of potatoes, candied sweet potatoes with orange rind, corn casserole, and almond green beans.
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