He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. Jackson, to the swig. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!.
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