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"God forgive me God save my soul!" he whispered. He was not concerned for Grassette now. "Queeck queeck, where is Marcile?" Grassette said, sharply. "Come back, Bignold. Listen where is Marcile?" He strained to hear the answer. Bignold was going, but his eyes opened again, however, for this call seemed to pierce to his soul as it struggled to be free. "Ten years since I saw her," he whispered.
Grassette imagined that the Governor did not remember who Bignold was, and that this was an appeal against his despair, and against revenging himself on the community which had applauded his sentence.
I hear him so," responded Grassette; and his face had a strange, fixed look which the others interpreted to be agitation at the thought that he had saved his own life by finding Bignold and alive; which would put his own salvation beyond doubt. He broke away from them and hurried down the Gulch. The others followed hard after, the Sheriff and the warders close behind; but he outstripped them.
In all the years that had gone, he had had an ungovernable desire to kill both Bignold and Marcile if he ever met them, a primitive, savage desire to blot them out of life and being. His fingers had ached for Marcile's neck, that neck in which he had lain his face so often in the transient, unforgettable days of their happiness. If she was alive now if she was still alive!
Her story was hidden there in Keeley's Gulch with Bignold, and he was galloping hard to reach his foe. As he went, by some strange alchemy of human experience, by that new birth of his brain, the world seemed different from what it had ever been before, at least since the day when he had found an empty home and a shamed hearthstone.
The Sheriff stooped to lift Bignold up, but Grassette waved them back with a fierce gesture, standing over the dying man. "He spoil my home. He break me I have my bill to settle here," he said, in a voice hoarse and harsh. "It is so? It is so eh? Spik!" he said to Bignold. "Yes," came feebly from the shrivelled lips. "Water! Water!" the wretched man gasped. "I'm dying!"
"Yes, Bignold is his name, Grassette," said the Sheriff. "You took a life, and now, if you save one, that'll balance things. As the Governor says, there'll be a reprieve anyhow. It's pretty near the day, and this isn't a bad world to kick in, so long as you kick with one leg on the ground, and " The Governor hastily intervened upon the Sheriff's brutal remarks.
"God forgive me God save my soul!" he whispered. He was not concerned for Grassette now. "Queeck-queeck, where is Marcile?" Grassette said sharply. "Come back, Bignold. Listen where is Marcile?" He strained to hear the answer. Bignold was going, but his eyes opened again, however, for this call seemed to pierce to his soul as it struggled to be free. "Ten years since I saw her," he whispered.
If he went, he could save his own life by saving Bignold, if Bignold was alive; or he could go and not save Bignold's life or his own! What would he do? The Governor watched him with a face controlled to quietness, but with an anxiety which made him pale in spite of himself. "What will you do, Grassette?" he said at last in a low voice, and with a step forwards to him.
Ring to give you your nursing bottles and put you to bed." "Huh," snorted Tod, "we daren't leave the Skyrocket unguarded." "Why it's Fulton's kid," exclaimed Bignold, for the first time recognizing him. "Say, you tell your dad that he's been stirring up this town till it's wild with excitement.
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