She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. Englishmen also certainly. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. Jonathan, who with the other constables had reconnoitred this band, and recognised in its ring-leader, Blueskin, commanded the constables to follow him, and made a sally for the purpose of seizing him. She wondered if the second part would overcome his objections? Several times the words had rushed to her tongue, to find her tongue paralysed. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. " "Monster!" cried Winifred. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily. But that title he would not endure.
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