Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer. ” “I had to,” she repeated. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ’ ‘Gracious heaven, Gerald! If your dear mama could not drag you to the altar, I am hardly likely to succeed.
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