\" Cathy poured her a glass. Understanding the appeal, the man snatched his master's sword from his grasp, and passed it through Darrell's body. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours.
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