I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. "You are my prisoner, Jack. . Nobody can anticipate your next move.
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