"Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe.
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