Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. ” He writhed. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. " "What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. For the present the desire to fly was gone. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.
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