Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. His safety must be looked to. "Ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?" "Why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff.
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