Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. “I’m not that beautiful. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Ireton is welcome to search every room in my house if he pleases," said Jonathan, in a tone of bravado. Do you hear me, Sir? Won't you stir!" "Not a step," replied Langley, gruffly. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles.
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