Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. A dresser, a washstand, and a clothes press. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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