" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. That's the way it goes. " "Well, Jack," said Jonathan, who had looked at him with surprise not unmixed with admiration, "you are a bold and clever fellow, I must allow. A garrison called to arms at dead of night on the sudden approach of the enemy, could not have been more expeditiously, or effectually aroused. " "Oh, Ruth couldn't put it on paper, to be sure; but there was no reason to hide the source. She had killed him. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. .
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