From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. "I've proofs to the contrary," replied Jonathan. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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