" And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack. Very well, I give up. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. .
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