He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. I’ve wanted you—always. All that is jolly and as it should be. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. I thought he was in Newgate.
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