If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. The ragged edge.
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