“Here, dis is for you. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. " "How so?" asked the other, distrustfully. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly.
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