Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. " "I'll take my chance," replied Jonathan, with a sinister smile. She hesitated.
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