Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. The knife is at my breast. Go on and tell me. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits.
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