She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. For a time Spurlock did not move. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica.
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