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The doors were closed and barricaded, and the mob threatened to burst them open if Jack was not delivered to them. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. "Now stand before me, Poll.
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