She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy.
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