"Choose, Jack. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgetting his promise to McClintock to be temperate. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment.
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