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. On the way he confessed. "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. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. CHAPTER XXII. The Reaper is not sated yet.
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