She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. Still, the respite was sufficient for Spurlock to look about for some weapon.
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