“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. ” “I’ll frame it—when I get it.
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