“I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. I thought that you were he. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. I’m damaged goods. At last—I told a story.
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