‘What is it?’ asked Roding. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. ” “I am convinced of it,” she answered. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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