"No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings.
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