‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly. He donned his winter coat. “I may seem unduly— anxious. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring.
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