‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. "Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you. I'll take them back with me. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship.
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