Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. “For no other reason than you talk too much. To-morrow they will know the truth. But you belong to me—and I want you. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. To Spurlock's observing eye, Enschede's wrinkles multiplied and the folds in his clothes. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see.
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