" "Pish!" cried Jack: "I don't value his anger a straw. ‘It is not possible. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. Horrible details recurred to her. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type.
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