"Upon him!" "Yield, villain, or die!" shouted Thames, drawing his sword and springing towards him. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. And would you mind hurrying a little. I freely forgive you. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed.
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