He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come.
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