The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. "And equally easy to prove it," replied Jack, giving him the paper he had abstracted from Wild. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. Brendon felt his arm seized. None presented themselves to save him from that return.
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