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But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. That'll tune me up. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. . No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. That is good. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues.

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