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Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. “Yes. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. ‘I can’t do that.
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