"I'm afraid I must decline to tell you. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. Stanley poured wine. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. Martha had been more to her than that. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. Quick! Quick!" The order was only just given in time.
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