" "If I disobey you, Sir Rowland," replied the thief-taker, "you'll thank me for it hereafter. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,—mind that. "That's odd. She could not say who, not yet. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf.
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