‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Terrific yells rent the air. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. You wish another name? Eh bien. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House.
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