Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. ’ Which effectually silenced her. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. "Get in wid ye, ye villin!" And, despite his resistance, Shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. “Kindly explain it to me.
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