Bring me clothing, I beg of you. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat.
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