There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. She looked up, and recognized Mr. " "No. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. "We'll give them the slip yet, and hang that butcherly thief-taker upon his own gibbet. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers.
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