"Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. She was, she guessed, close to the library. She had found him! Excitement welled. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice.
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