Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. She was weeping now. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. Too late now. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Just as Jack got half way down the stairs, and Wild and the Jew reached the upper landing, the street-door was opened by Langley and Ireton, the latter of whom carried a lantern. .
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