"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. Kneebone's 346 XIV. . I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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