The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her.
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