‘Come, cry a truce. I had a hunch. 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. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. I really must leave you now. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before.
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