He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. ‘Of course. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. He smiled inwardly. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. Brown or Jones, I dare say.
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