” Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. Her mind left her. He may die.
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