" "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. She would end this sham with Manning. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly.
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