“I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. The mode of destruction makes no difference. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Finding remonstrances of no avail, he had recourse to threats; and when threats failed, he adopted more decided measures. She gently placed the car back upon the ground. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. Sorry to be so nosy. They're gone into the next room.
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