"The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. He's the only native I trust in these parts. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. My father thought the latter.
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