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"But trifle with mo no longer. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. “I shot him. Collins, you can go now. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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