Do it! Have a complete job of what you have done this summer!" The man, writhed in his ignoble position, and tears gushed from his eyes.

Harlson reached forward and withdrew the pitchfork handle.
Woodell scrambled to his feet ungracefully, for his hands were still strapped together before him.
"Look here, Woodell," said Harlson, "let us go to the road and walk down toward your place.

I'll not unstrap your hands just yet.

I think I'll feel a trifle more comfortable having you as you are.

I want to talk with you.