I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. The Ragged Edge. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. Mr. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised.
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