“Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.
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