"Did I hear you …" began McClintock. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. “It’s about forty pounds. It was impulsive and natural. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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