"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him.
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