"Far from, it, Sir. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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