It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter.
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