"You may," replied Jack: "I'll fight for you to the last gasp. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days.
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