Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. ‘Cover her, men. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty.
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