" Ruth's eyes began to glow. “We don’t pretend. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. " This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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