The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections; he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. "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. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. You shall not take me alive.
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