"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Sir John saw it, and was flattered. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” “Never. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. It had been a very long time. He did not love Ruth.
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