All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. But Jack eluded their grasp. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. She thrust at him, following, almost spitting him as he crashed against the altar, rocking the huge candlesticks and the vessels that stood on it.
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