Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. But come, sir. I tell you what, Mr. She took his hand in hers. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night.
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