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 "I don't know."

"Stop that nonsense unless. … Where did you leave them?"

"I won't tell—I won't. … Ah, please, please!"

"Tell me!"

"Never. … Ah-h! …"

An abrupt and resounding hammering at the outer door forced him to leave off. He dropped her hand with an oath and springing to his feet drew his revolver; then, with a glance at the girl, who was silently weeping, tears of pain rolling down her cheeks, mouth set in a thin pale line of determination, strode out and shut the door after him.

As it closed the girl leaped to her feet, maddened with torture, wild eyes casting about the room for a weapon of some sort, of offense or defense; for she could not have endured the torture an instant longer. If forced to it, to fight, fight she would. If only she had something, a stick of wood, to defend herself with. … But there was nothing, nothing at all.