I’d need to be out of my senses. . "That's well," replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. ’ She shrugged. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. It felt too good. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. This he accomplished by holding the chain that connected them firmly between his teeth, and squeezing his fingers as closely together as possible, succeeded in drawing his wrists through the manacles. .
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