” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. ’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. Wily little devil she is. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. "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.
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