By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly.
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