"Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door.
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