It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I don’t play anything. ” “Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered. She felt she was now near her boy, and, nothing doubting her ability to rescue him from his perilous situation, she breathed a fervent prayer for his deliverance; and bending her steps towards the tavern in question, revolved within her mind as she walked along the best means of accomplishing her purpose.
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