"With the help of his comrade, Jack Sheppard, the young rascal made a bold push to get out of the round-house, where my janizaries had lodged him, and would have succeeded too, if, by good luck,—for the devil never deserts so useful an agent as I am, Sir Rowland,—I hadn't arrived in time to prevent him. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. ” “Who are you?” “I am a friend of Miss Pellissier’s,” Courtlaw answered. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely.
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