Jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled at last. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me.
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