"Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford.
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