C. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. Give me but leave to try. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. ‘You were right, miss. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. Spurling. ’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all.
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