‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. It was hot and dry.
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