For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. "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. There was—a service. He would see this sister. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully.
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