‘I am not a murderer. Come down, I say, instantly, or I'll make you. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes.
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