” “You know, Mr. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. ” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Sheppard despairingly. "Hell's curses!" roared Jonathan.
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