It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. “We are Mr. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle.
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