It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. 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. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. I can't concentrate on my work. Cathy's eyebrows perked up. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison.
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