Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. Wood,—"he'll never mend.
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