A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. A diversion was created by the violent struggles of the little old lady. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror.
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