She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ’ He bowed slightly, and indicated the house behind them with a wave of his hand. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. . After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet.
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