" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. “A lot of these people will be going presently.
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