Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows.
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