"Come along, Blueskin. ” He said. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. That there Frenchie didn’t look any too friendly to me. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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