“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. "Upon him!" "Yield, villain, or die!" shouted Thames, drawing his sword and springing towards him. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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