“No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Tell me that again. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse.
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