"Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. ” Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint. ‘Didn’t mean to say that.
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