It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. She made an abrupt personal appeal. Man's fate is in his own hands. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. In the one he approached was gathered together a vast assortment of weapons, each of which, as appeared from the ticket attached to it, had been used as an instrument of destruction.
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