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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"The House of the Wolf; a romance"


"Beware, gentlemen, beware," I urged, "I swear he is not here! I
swear it, do you hear?"
A howl of impatience and then a sudden movement of the crowd as
though the rush were coming warned me to temporize no longer.
"Stay! Stay!" I added hastily. "One minute! Hear me! You are
too many for us. Will you swear to let us go safe and untouched,
if we give you passage?"
A dozen voices shrieked assent. But I looked at the butcher
only. He seemed to be an honest man, out of his profession.
"Ay, I swear it!" he cried with a nod.
"By the Mass?"
"By the Mass."
I twitched Croisette's sleeve, and he tore the fuse from his
weapon, and flung the gun--too heavy to be of use to us longer--
to the ground. It was done in a moment. While the mob swept
over the barricade, and smashed the rich furniture of it in
wanton malice, we filed aside, and nimbly slipped under it one by
one. Then we hurried in single file to the end of the room, no
one taking much notice of us. All were pressing on, intent on
their prey.


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