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. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. But this only incensed the assailing party the more. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Challenge accepted.
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