"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. ’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. . “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. Sheppard, and saw from her terrified look that she had made the same alarming discovery as himself. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow.
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