She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. " "You won't tell me what he has done?" "If you'll tell me where he's heading. Cocking the gun.
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