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Ashton, Warren T.

"Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue"

"
"Fear you!" sneered Jaspar, rising and draining a glass of brandy. "I
fear no man, no devil, no angel!"
"Perhaps you are not aware that your reputation is in my hands."
"Not at all, sir," said Jaspar, coldly.
"Know, then, that I have a copy of the genuine will, and the means of
attesting it!"
Jaspar was prepared for almost anything, but this was too much. He paced
the room with redoubled energy. His bravado had vanished, and he was as
near pale as his bloated visage could approach to that hue. He strode up
and down the room in silence, while his heart beat the reveille of fear.
For a time his wonted firmness forsook him, and he felt as weak as a
child, and sunk back into a chair.
By degrees he grew calmer. The case was a desperate one. Again he
swallowed a long draught of brandy, which seemed to reduce his nerves to
a state of subjection. Gradually he rallied the dissipated powers of his
mind, and was ready to meet the emergency before him.
Dalhousie, after making his appalling announcement, had thrown himself
into a chair, to await the effect of his words.


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