So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. "Give it me," returned the carpenter; "all's safe. You can’t go.
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