’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. "They imagine their work is done. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.
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