” In the car, John was wound up. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. Reconnoitring them through a small grated loophole, he refused to open the door till they had explained their business. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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