It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Our ideal had fallen. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. Give me that picture, or I'll make you!" "Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me.
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