A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. . ‘I’ve never before made love at pistol point.
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